mrssabinecallas

[mrssabinecallas]

edit: i wrote this at 3am so it might be dogshit and i might delete it LMFAO so im sorry if this shit is unintelligible !

2,379 days. that’s how long it’d been since you took your christmas vacation to new york city. you were 19 years old, enjoying the holiday with your family. it was that day you decided to venture into the massive barnes and nobles in the city.

you had always loved books. the fresh paper smell, the feeling of the pages, and the jumble of content you could receive while sitting down and opening a book. you had walked in hoping to find a new book to read on the flight home. you didn’t know that you’d walk out with much more than that.

upon scanning the large bookstore, you veered closer to one side, with the fiction and sci-fi novels. you scoured the isles, searching for a new world to get lost in. upon leaving an isle, you run into a boy on the end cap, looking at computer science textbooks in the clearance rack. your eyes caught, but you turned away, face admittedly warmer than before. ‘he’s a cute stranger,’ you thought, and he stayed in your mind the rest of your visit in the book store.

you were a mild soul, not really a risk taker, more on the introverted side. normally, you wouldn’t dare to put yourself into a situation that could result in rejection or embarrassment. yet, in this moment, you couldn’t help but approach the handsome stranger, a small smile on your face, and ask for his number. or instagram, or snapchat… or- yknow, nothing at all if he wasn’t interested. it was an awkward encounter, truly, there was stuttering, stumbling, and fidgeting, and you learned that the boy wasn’t very extroverted himself.

yet, despite the awkwardness of it all, the boy’s cheeks flushed pink, and he gave you his number. as he spoke, you took note of his thick accent, his tall stature, though he was slouched over, and his apparent shock that a girl had just come up to him in the bookstore.

you walked out of that barnes and nobles with your head high, and a sense of pride at getting this cute boys number. oh, and not to mention the three extra novels you purchased, waving at cute new york boy on the way out. he sheepishly waved back.

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2,332 days. that’s how long it’d been since jay asked you to be his girlfriend- “for realz,” as he put it. he was still that awkward teen boy that you met in the bookstore a few months ago, but you were much more accustomed now. you had texted him after getting back to your hotel. you learned his name was john, but most people called him schlatt. there was a brief conversation of how that nickname came about, and that was that.

you learned that he was a computer science major at a small college outside the city, but he was starting to grow on his youtube channel, and wanted to put more of his time towards that. you told him about your life, how you were a business major at a smaller university, you still lived in your parents house but you planned on moving out soon. you both were in similar situations to each other, minus the content creation part.

“schlatt” became your new friend, but nothing more for a while. you had texted back and fourth for months, but you both agreed that distance would play an issue in a potential relationship. you could both admit your attraction for each other, and you had great chemistry. so, you decided to put aside the mental block of long distance and start dating.

it was hard, living so far away from each other, but surprisingly it worked out okay. your dates mainly consisted of multiplayer video games and late night movie marathons over a discord call. a few months passed, and after enough convincing, schlatt had convinced his parents to let him fly to your hometown and see you. (with the condition that they came along too, not because of his safety, but because his mother was over the moon to meet her baby’s girlfriend).

so, after much planning, a hotel was booked, dates were set, and your boyfriend was finally coming to see you. his mom was a delight, she claimed to absolutely adore you, and his dad was kind, but more closed off and quiet. you sat the resemblance in the father son duo. in addition, schlatt also met your parents. your dad had tried to scare him off, jokingly, he swears, and your mom is praising up and down that this is the best one you’ve ever brought home. you laugh and roll your eyes at her antics, but secretly you can’t help but agree.

in the same year, you had flown up to new york to stay with schlatt and his family for thanksgiving. you met his older sister, and she seemed to approve. you were both freshly 20 years old, and schlatt had decided to drop out of college and pursue youtube full time. you supported him, but had to help him weigh his options. in the end, he seemed happier though.

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1,631 days. that’s how long it’d been since schlatt packed up and moved to texas. he promised that after you graduated college in a few months, he would have a big house ready for you in texas. what he didn’t promise, however, was the addition of an orange tabby cat named jambo that schlatt treasured with his life. when your phone rang with an unexpected facetime call, the last thing you expected to see on the other end was a bright orange kitten. yet, schlatt beamed ear to ear, and you suddenly couldn’t tell him no.

when it came time for you to move to texas with him, getting used to living with a cat was strange. jambo was a menace, to say the least. he would eat fridge magnets, constantly meow for attention, and cost you and schlatt several thousands of dollars in vet bills and top-of-the-line fixtures. “only the best for my son,” schlatt would declare, and yet again you couldn’t find it in you to tell him no.

texas was its own nightmare, constantly packing up and moving house to house, trying to keep a stable job. schlatt swore up and down that you didn’t need to work, that he could provide for you for the rest of your life and you could relax. as tempting as it sounds, you are a girl that relies on a work schedule. he wasn’t happy about that, he wanted to keep you at home with himself.

it was when schlatt finally sat you down and asked if you would be okay moving up to new york that you jumped for joy, you could finally get out of this texas hellhole. you’d never lived in new york before, and the few times you’d been, it was always to the city. you had found a nice house in the mountains, and that was that. you packed up shop, and flew up to new york to move in to your new home. it was nice, considerably colder, seeing as new york actually experienced all 4 seasons in a year and not just 2. (summer and football season, which is still just summer, this was all that texas had to offer)

you’d finally settled into your new life in new york, along the way you and schlatt picked up a second cat that schlatt adoringly calls “mister.” partially because he is to lazy to come up with a better name, and partially because it’s hilarious to him. mister, somehow, was more of a menace than jambo. he always had his fangs out, but in reality he always wants to play. they got along well, jambo and mister, but you can sense that schlatt is going to be asking for more cats in the future. more cats that you can’t say no to.

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309 days. that’s how long it’d been since schlatt took you on a romantic date to your favorite sushi place, then drove out to your favorite view of the mountains. he tried to say some big sappy speech, but we all know he’s not much of a sap. so, after stumbling through a bunch of reasons why he loves you, and then an apology for how shitty his speech is going, he knelt down on one knee and asked for you hand in marriage. the cool fall air bit at your nose as tears started flowing, and you threw yourself into his arms with an ecstatic yes.

the wedding planning life, let’s just say, wasn’t for you. but you tried! after countless sleepless nights trying to find venues, hire vendors, find the right colors, the right florals, the right damn placemats, you were about to lose your mind. schlatt was your rock through it all, though, and somehow always ended up saying “just get whichever one is more expensive,” with that stupid little smirk on his face. it wasn’t always helpful, yet it was always nice that at the end of the day, those were the times he would hold you the closest. when he knows your struggling to figure something out, he’ll call your best friend or your mom to have them make the decision. he might not have the best taste, but he sure as hell is resourceful when you need him to be.

after months and months of planning, booking, payments, appointments, and many more things you grew to hate over time, you finally had it all set. you had your colors, your florals, your chairs and place settings and guest list. you had the dress, you had the wedding party, and by the grace of god, you convinced schlatt to trim up his chops for the big day. “i’m not shaving em off, toots.” he would say. again and again you would explain that you didn’t want them gone, you just wanted them to be a little neater for pictures. he finally rolled his eyes and just started agreeing with you.

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16 hours. that’s how long it’d been since your “bachelorette party,” though it can’t officially be considered a bachelorette by definition terms. you and schlatt just wanted to be with your families and friends, you didn’t want to spend the night completely apart. because of course, you were each others best friend. so, you had a nice dinner with family, had a little too much to drink, and played a few fun games to keep the energy high. then, after a long night, you tucked in to your hotel room alone, saddened by the silence that followed the lack of your husband. he was only down the hall, but you had both promised to wait until tomorrow to see each other.

the buzzing of your phone caught your attention as you tried to sleep. a phone call from your soon to be husband rang out from the nightstand, and you picked it up. it turns out, he wanted to talk to you because he couldn’t sleep. “it’s not like i’m lookin at you, so technically i’m not breaking any rules,” he explained sleepily. you just smiled at your phone and drifted off into sleep.

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1 hour. that’s how long until you walk the down isle. your mom is running around, making sure everything is going according to plan. your best friend and schlatts older sister are in the bridal suite, touching up your makeup and making sure you’re perfectly set. you, on the other hand, are trying not to sweat off your makeup from nerves. or cry. or both! you can’t really tell, all you know is that you’re nervous.

schlatt, on the other hand, is pacing the room he’s in, biting his nails and fixing his hair anxiously. not because he’s nervous, but because he’s been away from you for so long, and he can’t wait to call you his wife. officially. (legally, at least) his dad asks if he’s doing ok, how he’s feeling, and all schlatt can muster is a, “catch me if i pass out when i see her, ‘kay?” his dad laughed at that, and patted his shoulder.

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0 minutes. now was the time. the guests rose, all eyes turned to you, adorned in a flowing white gown, a bundle of flowers in your hand, only looking at your husband. his eyes brimmed with tears, and he actually thought he might pass out. he had never been shy to tell you of your beauty, but as you met him at the altar, he still had to whisper you a small reminder. “you look absolutely amazing, toots,” he said with the utmost sincerity, the look of love in his eyes was visible to anyone in the room.

the ceremony was beautiful. light painted the walls different colors through the grand stained glass windows. your matching flowers lined the rows of seats that housed your family and friends, who looked on in happiness. it was bliss. the vows exchanged made not only you and schlatt cry, but also your parents, and many friends. the reception was pure chaos, the open bar being schlatts idea, and you both took advantage of the heavy price tag.

the night was beautiful, and you would cherish it eternally as you laid next to your husband in your home. the sheer amount of love that two people could have in 6 years is astonishing, yet you wouldn’t want it to be any less.

because you were irrevocably and completely in love with the nerdy 19 year old boy from the barnes and nobles. you were head over heels for the 21 year old that begged you for a cat. you would hang the stars for the 24 year old that said he would take care of you for the rest of your life. and you couldn’t imagine it any other way, than right now with your husband by your side.

[mrssabinecallas]

Imagine, if you will, virgin gf whos just so fucking horny for Schlatt, girl is down BAD, for this man so much so that Schlatt has to be like “woah hey let’s slow down okay dont wanna hurt yourself toots” (Toots🤤🤤) and has to like pin (gently but still pinning) you down and talk to you in that like (idk what to call it) like “gentle parent” (???) voice so you don’t hurt yourself cause hes just so BIG and he could also probably potentially hurt a partner who HAS had sex before cause of his size so his partner whose never had sex? Oh hes terrified he might tear you in half of he isn’t careful.

╭﹐✦˚₊· 𖤐 * baby’s first time ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ╮ imagine: third date. a movie. a kiss. a girl too far gone to think straight—and a man trying his hardest not to ruin her. ╰﹒♡₊˚๑ *✧﹒✦ ࣪ ˖ ┊

﹒₊✦ a/n: inspired by a not-so-little ask about a virgin reader down bad for schlatt ♡ i may have wandered into tenderness territory, and,,, i'm not sorry!!

warnings: explicit content (MDNI !!!) · virgin reader · size kink · dom/sub dynamics (soft) · thigh riding �� fingering · handjob · creampie · aftercare

enjoy, ma luvs ♡

✧✧✧

the door clicks open, and schlatt steps aside like he’s done this a hundred times before.

“welcome to casa de big guy,” he says dryly. “wipe your feet, don’t judge the furniture, and if anything smells like axe body spray, it wasn’t me.”

you laugh, stepping inside. “real strong opening. totally reassuring.”

his place is… honestly, kind of nice. not in a curated, architectural digest way. just warm. lived in. the couch is stupidly big, the rug doesn’t match, and there’s an open bottle of something expensive on the kitchen counter. but it feels like him.

he closes the door behind you. “you want a drink?”

you nod. “water’s fine.”

“boring,” he says, already heading to the kitchen. “love that.”

you roll your eyes and tug off your shoes. he’s still in his button-up from dinner, sleeves rolled up, top buttons undone. the chain at his neck catches the light when he moves, and your brain short-circuits just a little.

you perch on the edge of the couch. try not to look like you’re imagining things you absolutely shouldn’t be imagining this early into a relationship.

he brings you a bottle of water and flops down beside you like gravity owes him something.

“so,” he says, stretching out with one arm behind you, “movie or mario kart?”

you glance at him. “you’re letting me choose?”

“no,” he says. “just seeing what you’d pick before i put on something i like.”

you scoff. “you’re the worst.”

he grins—wide and smug. “yeah, but i’ve got surround sound.”

you snatch the remote before he can reach for it.

“put on something you like,” you say innocently. “let me see what kind of freak you really are.”

he gives you a look. the kind that makes your stomach flip.

“careful,” he says, leaning back, spreading his legs just slightly. “you might find out.”

you raise a brow. “oh no. not—i mean, your taste.”

schlatt laughs, low and lazy. “you think i’ve got bad taste, toots?”

“i think you have questionable judgment and a subscription to every streaming service but HBO.”

“jealousy’s ugly on you,” he mutters, shifting closer, one hand sliding behind your neck like it’s nothing. “good thing you look cute in everything else.”

your breath catches.

that look in his eyes—just amused enough to be dangerous—makes it hard to think.

he leans in slow, gives you enough time to pull away.

but you don’t.

he leans in, and when those lips meet yours—it’s not just a peck. it’s hungry. it’s claiming. it’s everything you’ve been craving since date one.

your fingers tangle in his shirt. his hand cups your jaw. every nerve in your body jumps.

you press closer, breath colliding, wanting it to go further—but just as you're about to lose control, he pulls back.

with the most smug ass smile you've ever encountered.

you’re blinking, breath caught, body still hot.

he taps your water bottle like he’s reminding you to hydrate. “told you i’ve got taste.”

you stare at him, deflated and fired up all at once.

he picks up the remote again. turns the volume up. settles back.

“so,” he says. "movie."

✧✧✧

you’re nestled into the corner of the couch now, tucked under his arm, legs draped over his lap like you’ve done this a hundred times.

the movie plays—low volume, muted light, something with a plot you’re not following.

you’re too focused on the way his thumb brushes the inside of your arm. the occasional squeeze at your waist. the weight of him beneath you.

you’re warm. a little sleepy. a lot horny.

and without realizing it, you start to move.

just the tiniest roll of your hips. back into his thigh.

barely anything.

but the friction makes your breath hitch.

you do it again.

and again.

you don’t even know you’re doing it until he shifts slightly beneath you—just enough to make you freeze.

“…you good, toots?”

your eyes snap open. “what?”

he tilts his head down, chin brushing your temple. his voice is low, soft. amused.

“you keep grinding on my leg like you’re trying to make coffee or something."

you go completely still.

a beat passes. then another.

and then—humiliated—you bury your face in his chest with a groan.

“oh my god. i wasn’t—i didn’t mean to—”

his hand rubs your back slowly. “i know.”

you peek up at him, mortified. “please tell me you’re not mad.”

“mad?” he huffs a laugh and grabs the remote, clicking the movie off. “sweetheart, i’m flattered.”

he sets the remote aside, then shifts so he can face you more fully. one arm still around your waist. the other rubbing your thigh—gentle, slow.

“but listen,” he murmurs. “i gotta be honest with you, alright?”

your stomach flips.

“yeah?” you ask, quiet.

his gaze drops—thigh, hand, then back to you.

“i’ve been doing this a long time,” he says, voice low and even. “you haven’t. i know that.”

you go a little rigid in his lap. “did i… say that?”

he huffs a laugh—low and knowing. “you didn’t have to.”

“okay, well—” you sit up straighter, shrug like it’s no big deal. “i mean, i’m not completely inexperienced—”

“no?”

“i’ve done stuff.”

“stuff.”

“yes, stuff.”

he tilts his head. “like?”

you blink. “like—like things.”

he’s smiling now. “specific things?”

“god, why are you interrogating me—”

“because you keep lying, sweetheart,” he says, gently. “and you’re really, really bad at it.”

you sputter. “i’m not—i’m not lying—”

“you moaned when i kissed your neck. Once. and your whole body went stiff the second my hand hit your thigh.” he leans in, eyes dark. “you haven’t done anything.”

you go silent.

he softens. “that’s not a problem. it’s just a fact.”

you glance away—embarrassed.

“...i didn’t want to seem totally clueless.”

“baby. i like you clueless.” he cups your jaw, tilts your face back to his. “i’m not tryna scare you off. i just—look, i’m a big guy. and i can be rough without meaning to. so if we’re gonna do this—if you ever wanna go there—i gotta know it’s not just because you’re all worked up and desperate for it. i gotta know it’s you. choosing it.”

you blink.

heart hammering.

because this is not what you expected.

he smiles a little at your expression. “that surprise you?”

you nod slowly. “i just—i didn’t think you’d care.”

his brow lifts. “toots,” he mutters. “you think i’m gonna risk splitting you in half just so i can blow my load five minutes faster?”

your face burns.

but you laugh, burying your face in his chest again.

he wraps both arms around you now. holding you close.

“tell me what you want, baby,” he says, voice lower now. slower. “not what you think i wanna hear. what you want.”

you swallow.

“i don’t know,” you whisper. “i just… i wanna feel you.”

he hums.

and you feel it—in his chest, under your hands.

“yeah?” he says softly. “you think you’re ready for that?”

you nod, but it’s hesitant. you’re still tucked close. still trembling a little.

he pulls back just enough to look at you.

his eyes are soft, but there’s heat behind them. serious heat.

“you ever ridden a thigh before?”

you blink. “ridden a… what?”

his lips twitch. “that’s a no.”

“i didn’t say no,” you protest, even as your brain scrambles for anything close. “i just—I mean, it’s not exactly common—”

“it is when you know what you’re doing.”

you stare at him. “and you just… sit on it?”

he chuckles. “no, baby. you grind.”

your mouth goes dry. “oh.”

he raises a brow, watching the realization hit you. “still wanna try?”

your throat’s dry. your fingers curl in the fabric of his shirt.

you nod.

“yeah,” you whisper. “okay.”

his smile is small. quiet. something between gentle and dangerous.

“attagirl.” he shifts beneath you, spreading his legs a little wider, patting his thigh. “c’mon, sweetheart. right here.”

you crawl over hesitantly, face burning, nerves crawling under your skin. the second your knees settle on either side of his leg, you realize just how big he really is.

your core is barely brushing his thigh.

you’re not even fully seated and you already feel stretched—high up, slightly off balance, comically small on top of him.

“is this… okay?” you ask quietly, looking down at him. “like—am i doing it right?”

he smiles—lazy, warm, and just a little crooked. his hands settle lightly on your hips.

“you’re perfect,” he says, thumbs stroking circles into your skin. “we’ll get you there.”

you start to move—tentative, cautious, rocking your hips forward just a little. the friction is barely there, but it already lights something up in your belly.

you shift again, trying to roll your hips in a smoother motion.

“…is this how you do it?” you ask. “i feel like i’m not…”

schlatt cuts you off with a quiet hum, and his hands tighten just slightly.

“hey. you don’t gotta know how,” he murmurs. “that’s what i’m here for.”

he lifts his thigh just a little under you, adjusting the pressure, guiding you forward with a slow tug at your hips.

“try that.”

you gasp. the contact is better. more direct.

“oh—oh, okay…”

you keep going. a little clumsier than you’d like. shifting, huffing, trying not to grind down too hard.

you look at him again. “sorry—i’m just—i don’t wanna mess it up.”

he chuckles under his breath, voice low and thick.

“baby, you’re not gonna break anything,” he says.

“but—you're so—i mean, your leg is—”

he tilts his head, smirking.

“what? big?”

you nod, mortified. “yeah. that.”

his voice dips even lower. “you ever stop to think what the rest of me might do to you if we’re not careful?”

your breath catches. you can’t answer.

he leans forward, mouth brushing your ear.

“trust me, toots,” he whispers. “you’re doin’ just fine.”

you’re trying—god, you’re trying—but every shift of your hips feels clumsy. your thighs are already shaking, and you can’t tell if it’s from the effort or the nerves or the fact that his hands haven’t left your waist since he put you there.

“i—i don’t know if i’m doing this right,” you mumble. “it feels good, but it’s not—like—how it’s supposed to be, right?”

schlatt’s eyes narrow slightly. not annoyed—just watching. reading you.

he shifts under you again, thigh flexing between your legs, dragging right where you need it.

“sweetheart,” he says, voice low and slow, “look at me.”

you do. hesitant. flushed. bottom lip caught between your teeth.

his hand cups your jaw gently—thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, just enough to make you still.

“you’re not here to perform,” he murmurs. “you’re here to feel. and feel good. got it?”

you nod, barely breathing.

“good girl.”

your breath hitches.

“you feel how wet you are right now?” he asks, one hand sliding from your waist to between your legs—pressing you down harder onto his thigh. you gasp. your hands clench at his shoulders.

“that’s what i care about,” he mutters. “not rhythm. not looking cute. just you, soaking my leg like it’s the only thing that’s ever made you feel good.”

you whimper, and he grins, a flash of teeth.

“yeah, that’s better,” he says. “that’s my girl.”

your hips start moving again. this time instinctively. not polished. not graceful. just needy.

“you hear those sounds you’re making?” he breathes, eyes locked on you. “you think i give a fuck how ‘right’ your hips are moving when you’re whimpering like that on my leg?”

your eyes flutter closed, head tipping back, and he grabs your waist again, guiding you now—gentle but firm.

“don’t stop now, baby,” he murmurs. “you’re doin’ perfect. get what you need from me.”

you’re getting there.

fast.

too fast.

your hips are stuttering now—small, frantic rolls, thighs trembling as you grind down hard enough that the seam of your underwear is soaked through.

and still, his hands stay on you. firm. supportive. in charge.

“you gonna come like this?” he asks, voice a rough whisper against your ear. “just from my thigh?”

you nod—desperate, whimpering.

“i—i think so—feels so good—”

“you poor little thing,” he mutters, teeth brushing your cheek. “you wanna come that bad? just like that? just from rubbing yourself on me?”

your breath hitches. your hands claw at his shirt.

and then—

he stops you.

big hands wrapping tight around your waist, lifting you off his thigh before you can fall over that edge.

you whine—loudly—hips twitching, eyes wide, clit pulsing and unsatisfied.

“wha—why—?! schlatt—”

“uh-uh,” he cuts you off, voice calm but firm. “i felt you getting close. didn’t say you could come, did i?”

you shake your head, nearly crying with frustration.

he shifts you in his lap, laying you back gently against the cushions, kneeling between your legs now. and you feel it—how big he is, crouched over you, gaze dark, hands trailing slow up your thighs.

“you know what your problem is, baby?”

you shake your head, still breathing hard.

“you’re too busy thinking about what it’d be like to ride me,” he murmurs, hand sliding between your legs again. “aren’t you?”

your eyes go wide.

he chuckles—dark and amused.

“you were fuckin’ fantasizing. thinking about how good i’d feel inside you. weren’t you?”

you nod helplessly.

“yeah. that’s what i thought.” he hums. “bet you got a whole little movie going in your head, me on top of you. me inside you. ruining that tight little pussy before you even know what to do with it.”

you squirm under his gaze, but he’s already tugging at the tie around your waist. undoing your dress like it’s a gift he’s taking his sweet time unwrapping.

✧✧✧

“you don’t even know what you’re asking for, do you?”

you shake your head, breath shaky. “i just—i want to feel you.”

his expression softens—but only slightly.

“you will,” he says. “but you’re gonna feel my fingers first.”

he pulls your panties aside, thick fingers brushing through your soaked folds. you gasp—hips lifting instinctively.

“you’re so wet, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “all from my thigh? from grinding like a needy little thing?”

you nod, helpless.

he slips one finger in—slowly. carefully.

you moan—high and shocked, head tipping back.

“god, you’re tight,” he breathes. “clenching already and it’s just one.”

his free hand presses gently on your belly, keeping you grounded.

“this okay?” he asks. “want me to keep going?”

you nod frantically. “please, sir—”

he smiles at that. then adds a second finger.

you cry out, legs twitching as he stretches you open—slow, steady, mercilessly gentle.

he leans in close, voice right at your ear.

“you feel stretched?” he murmurs, voice low.

you nod, lips parted, struggling to stay still.

“mm.” he smirks. “and that’s just two fingers, toots.”

his other hand trails down your thigh, thumb stroking your skin like a reward. like praise. but his tone stays calm, clinical, almost condescending.

“you’re squeezin’ so tight, i can barely move,” he says. “and you were thinkin’ you could take my cock?”

you moan again—helpless, humiliated.

he chuckles softly. “gonna hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you’re not even close. maybe if you were able to take four...”

his fingers press in deeper, curling just right—and you jolt, crying out, hands gripping the cushions like lifelines.

“shit—okay—okay—”

“you feel that?” he breathes. “that’s what a fraction of me feels like.”

you blink up at him, glassy-eyed. his shirt’s still buttoned, collar open. he hasn’t even rolled his sleeves down. meanwhile, you’re wrecked—basically naked, needy, completely undone.

he leans in, mouth at your ear.

“you’re not takin’ my cock, baby. you’re takin’ my fingers, and barely that.”

you whimper, shame heating your skin.

“and you’re doin’ your best, you are,” he soothes, voice soft now—mockingly tender. “but if i tried to fuck you tonight? you’d cry just from the tip.”

your hips twitch. you hate how wet you are from that—how your cunt clenches around his fingers like it agrees.

he feels it.

“ohhh,” he breathes, grinning. “you like that idea?”

you try to look away.

his hand grabs your jaw—gentle, but firm—and turns you back to face him.

“don’t look away now,” he murmurs. “you just squeezed around my fingers like that was the best fuckin’ thing you ever heard.”

you swallow hard, lips parted, heart slamming in your chest.

“you like the idea of crying on it, don’t you?” he presses, voice low. “sittin’ in my lap, all cockdrunk and teary, beggin’ me not to put the rest in?”

you whimper.

and that makes him grin. slow. cruel.

“jesus. you been thinkin’ about that for a while, haven’t you?”

you nod—helpless.

“how long?”

you blink, trying to gather words—but you can’t.

so he curls his fingers just right, and you gasp—back arching, thighs twitching.

“c’mon, toots,” he says, soft and coaxing. “use that mouth. tell me.”

you breathe, high and shaky. “since… our first date.”

that stuns him for a second. his brows lift—just a flicker of disbelief.

“first date?” he echoes, lips twitching. “we split a pizza and you were already thinkin’ about gettin’ split open?”

you cover your face, humiliated. “i didn’t know it’d be like this.”

he pulls your hand away—still grinning, still wrecking you with just the look in his eyes.

“like what?”

“big,” you whisper. “so big.”

his grin deepens, fingers dragging slow and deep, hitting a spot that makes your hips jerk.

“haven’t even shown you yet,” he murmurs. “but you’ve been thinkin’ about it—how wide you’d have to stretch. how it’d feel when i finally push in. that right?”

you nod, eyes wet, lips trembling. “mm-hm.”

he leans in—voice low, coaxing, wrecked.

“and now you know,” he breathes. “now you really know what you’re beggin’ for.”

then his thumb finds your clit again—circling firm, slow, devastating—and your whole body locks up.

“go on, sweetheart,” he murmurs, lips brushing your cheek. “come for me. just like this. just from my fingers.”

you shatter—body seizing, legs shaking, hands scrabbling for anything to hold onto. his wrist. the couch. the air. your cry breaks in your throat.

he groans low, thumb easing up, fingers still deep, drawing it out as long as he can.

“that’s it,” he whispers. “good girl. there you go.”

and then, slowly, finally, he slips his fingers out.

you whimper at the loss.

he brings them to his mouth.

licks them clean.

eyes never leaving yours.

you swallow hard, flushed and shaking and so far gone—but when he starts reaching for the throw blanket draped over the back of the couch, you blink.

“…what are you doing?”

he tilts his head, amused. “trying to wrap you up before you fall asleep sittin’ in your own afterglow.”

you frown—confused, needy, offended. “you’re just… done?”

schlatt pauses, blanket still half-unfolded. “i mean—yeah?” he says, hesitant. “was kinda hopin’ to get you cozy again…maybe finish the movie, head to bed…”

you stare at him, lips parted. “but i don’t want to sleep.”

his brow furrows. “toots…”

“no, i’m serious.” you sit up, pulling your shirt down as best you can—not that it helps, considering your whole body’s still humming from his fingers. “i don’t want to stop. not yet.”

“you just came so hard i thought you forgot your name,” he says, voice rough but not unkind. “i figured you’d wanna—”

“i didn’t come here to nap on your couch,” you say, more force behind your words now. “i came here because i like you. because i trust you. and because i knew if you touched me—really touched me—it was gonna feel this good.”

he doesn’t speak.

so you go on, cheeks burning:

“i’ve been wanting you for weeks, schlatt. but if you’re not into it—if you think i’m just some wide-eyed virgin who can’t handle you—then say that. but don’t sit there and act like you don’t want me when you’ve got a goddamn tent in your jeans.”

that makes him snort—actually snort—but the sound is low and almost pained.

he rubs the back of his neck, looking away for a beat before meeting your eyes again.

“fuck, toots,” he mutters. “it’s not that i don’t want you. jesus. believe me, i do. i’m dying over here.”

“then what?” you ask, quieter now.

his jaw ticks. “i’m tryin’ not to be the asshole who rushes a girl into something she’ll regret. especially one who’s never done it before. especially you.”

you sit still for a moment. swallow hard. then:

“i’m not rushing. i’m asking. and i’m not trying to jump straight into sex. i just… i wanna see you. i wanna touch you. i wanna make you feel good, too.”

his breath hitches.

you shift closer. rest a hand over his. “let me?”

he stares at you—searching. maybe for fear, maybe for hesitation?

but he finds neither.

“…alright,” he says, voice lower than before. “we’ll take it slow."

you nod.

and then?

he leans back on the couch and spreads his thighs—just a little.

“then c’mon, sweetheart,” he murmurs, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “you wanted to touch?”

you nod again—heart pounding.

“be gentle with it, now,” he adds, undoing his jeans. “he’s not used to sweet girls with tiny little hands.”

schlatt undoes his jeans slow, deliberate—like he’s still giving you time to change your mind.

you don’t.

can’t.

not with the way your mouth’s gone dry and your thighs are already pressing together again.

he shoves the denim down his thighs and leans back, boxers tented—massively—the outline of him enough to make your breath catch.

and then, finally, he tugs the waistband down.

you suck in a breath.

jesus.

he’s huge.

long and heavy, flushed dark at the tip, veined and thick and impossibly real. he’s hard—painfully hard—and lying against his stomach like he knows damn well you’re staring.

and you are.

because your mind’s blank.

wiped.

replaced with the single, earth-shattering thought:

there’s no way that’s fitting inside me.

but you want to try.

and then?

you notice it.

a glint of silver.

pierced—through the underside of the head. a smooth, shining barbell catching the soft lamp light, nestled against all that flushed skin like it belongs there.

your thighs press tighter.

“holy shit,” you whisper.

he raises a brow, cocky but cautious. “too much?”

you shake your head violently.

“no. no, i just—” you blink, still stunned. “it’s just… bigger than i thought. and the piercing…”

he smirks. “didn’t peg you for the kind who’d like that.”

you lick your lips. “i didn’t know i liked it.”

he lets out a low, breathless chuckle. “fuck, you’re cute.”

you reach out—hesitant at first—until your fingers brush against his length, and he exhales hard through his nose.

“careful,” he mutters. “he’s shy.”

you glance up, wide-eyed.

he’s already watching you, his gaze dark and steady, one arm thrown over the back of the couch like he’s trying to look casual—but the flex of his thigh beneath your knee gives him away.

you wrap your hand around him, featherlight.

his breath catches. “a little tighter, baby.”

you squeeze—barely.

he groans. “yeah. just like that.”

you pump once, twice, awkward and unsure. “am i…?”

“you’re doin’ so good,” he says, voice rough. “just keep goin’. nice and slow.”

you bite your lip and keep your eyes on your hand, watching the way his skin shifts, how your fingers don’t quite close all the way around.

god, he’s thick.

he guides you gently—fingers curling over yours, setting the pace, the rhythm.

“that’s it,” he murmurs. “easy, yeah? keep your hand right there—good girl.”

the praise makes your stomach flutter.

you pump again, smoother now. his hips twitch—just a little—and he sucks in a breath through his teeth.

“try twisting your wrist a little at the top,” he says, almost too calmly. “not too much. just—fuck, yeah, like that.”

you look up at him again, half-proud, half-hungry.

his jaw’s tight. he’s breathing hard. and the muscle in his thigh jumps every time you give him a firmer stroke.

you’re learning fast.

another slow pump and there it is—a bead of slick, glistening at the tip.

you blink.

then, without thinking, you lean in and press a kitten lick to it—light, curious, reverent.

he chokes.

“jesus—fuck, baby—”

you flinch back. “sorry! i didn’t—was that—?”

he huffs a breath, eyes squeezing shut like he’s trying to reset the entire planet.

“no, that was—shit, that was perfect. you’re so fucking perfect.”

you glance down again.

still curious.

still hungry.

you lean in—and this time, you press your tongue flat to the base and drag it all the way up. slow. careful. lingering at the tip with another kitten lick, like it’s instinct.

he bucks.

actually bucks.

“fuck, baby—!”

you sit back again, blinking up at him, lips slick, proud and a little uncertain.

“…did i mess up?”

he stares at you like you’ve just reinvented sex. like he can’t decide if he’s terrified or in love.

then you do it again.

same motion.

same wide eyes looking up at him.

his hand shoots out—grabs the base of his cock like it’s the only thing keeping him from losing it all over your pretty, determined face.

“okay,” he rasps. “okay, that’s enough.”

you pout. “why?”

he looks wrecked. cheeks flushed, hair mussed, thighs tensed like steel under you.

“because if you do that one more fucking time,” he growls, “i’m gonna come so hard i black out, and that’s not how i wanna finish this date.”

you blink. then slowly smile.

“…so i’m good at it?”

“sweetheart,” he huffs, tugging you into his lap again, “you’re a goddamn menace.”

he tucks you into his lap like muscle memory—your bare thighs stretched over denim, your flushed face resting against his shoulder.

his cock is still hard, still leaking, still angry at the denial.

you squirm once and feel it press against your stomach.

“…can i try?” you whisper, voice small but sure.

he stills.

“...try what, baby?”

you don’t look at him. “…taking you. at least a little.”

he goes quiet. one long beat. then another.

“you sure?” he asks finally—low, serious.

you nod. “i just… wanna see. i wanna try. i know it might not go all the way, but—”

“but you want to know how it feels,” he finishes for you, voice gentling. “you wanna feel us.”

you nod again.

he sighs like he’s aging a decade on the spot, but you catch the way his arms tighten around your waist—like he’s already imagining it.

“��we’re goin’ slow,” he warns.

“okay.”

“and the second it’s too much, you tell me.”

“okay.”

he looks at you for a moment—long and steady—like he’s memorizing the curve of your face.

then: “all right, sweetheart.”

you sit up.

and he leans back.

cock thick and flushed, resting against his stomach like it’s just waiting for you.

you swing a leg over, settling above him, shaky hands bracing on his chest.

“you’re gonna guide it,” he murmurs. “take your time.”

you reach down, wrap your hand around him again—he twitches in your grip—and you line him up to your entrance, already slick and fluttering and so ready.

your breath catches.

his hands come up to your hips.

“i got you,” he whispers. “don’t rush. just—go as far as you can handle, baby.”

you nod, eyes fluttering.

and slowly—so slowly—you start to sink.

the head presses in and it’s already a stretch.

you gasp.

“fuck, you’re tight,” he grits out. “jesus, you feel like a vice.”

you whimper. but don’t stop.

“an inch more, maybe,” he murmurs, watching your face. “that’s it.”

you exhale shakily.

but you want more.

your thighs tremble as you inch lower, one centimeter at a time, cunt pulling him in greedily even as your body resists.

“good girl,” he whispers, voice raw. “just like that. that’s it, sweetheart. you’re doin’ perfect.”

you make it about halfway before your body stalls and the pressure inside you starts to burn.

it’s too much.

but also—not enough.

you brace your hands on his chest, panting, thighs trembling, walls clutching him like you’re scared to let go.

“shit, baby,” he grits, hands hovering like he’s torn between helping you up or holding you down. “you—you can stop now. that’s already so much—”

you nod. you try.

you lift your hips—just barely—

but the friction is molten.

you gasp—then drop right back down with a helpless cry.

his groan punches out of him, ragged and low. your eyes fly to his.

wide. stunned. wrecked.

you grind again. shallow. experimental.

both of you moan.

“oh,” you whisper.

“fuck me,” he breathes. “do that again.”

you do.

rocking in slow, shaky circles—just halfway down, just where it feels good.

his fingers dig into your hips like anchors, his chest rising hard beneath your palms.

“jesus christ,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “you’re riding just the tip—”

“not the tip,” you pant, biting down on your lip. “i got halfway.”

he huffs a breathless laugh, brushing a hand through his hair as he looks at you—flushed, trembling, perfect.

“yeah, baby,” he says, voice rough. “you fuckin’ did. and you feel unreal.”

his hands slide lower—settling on your hips again, firm but steady. “slow it down a sec,” he murmurs, coaxing your movement into something smaller. “not just back and forth—try…rollin’ your hips. yeah, like that.”

you follow his guidance, circling your hips slowly, shallowly, and your breath stutters out at the way it drags him inside you.

“feel that?” he asks—low, careful, watching your face. “better?”

you nod, a little dazed. “s’good,” you whisper. “i—i didn’t know it could feel like this…”

“mm,” he hums, guiding you through another slow grind. “it’s different for everyone. different positions, different angles. but this—this one’s good for you, huh?”

“yeah,” you breathe. “yeah, it’s—fuck, schlatt—”

his eyes flutter shut for a second, like he’s trying to hold himself together. “legs okay?” he murmurs. “you need a break?”

they’re shaking, but not in pain. you shift a little and shake your head a bit, side to side. “just tired.”

you whimper. your head tips back, mouth falling open, cunt fluttering around him with every slow drag of your hips.

“can’t think, can you?” he murmurs, voice a gravelly purr. “too full to think. you like bein’ dumb on my cock, sweetheart?”

you nod. frantic this time. you do.

he chuckles—hoarse, wrecked.

“you’re so fuckin’ tight like this,” he groans. “fuck—every time you move, i feel your pussy pulling at me.”

you try to answer, but it comes out a whine.

“drunk on it already?” he teases, and his hand slides down—rubbing slow circles over your clit. “and i’m not even all the way in.”

that makes your whole body twitch. you bite your lip. squirm a little.

“i—maybe i can—”

“no,” he says gently, pressing his thumb a little firmer. “you don’t have to, baby. half’s already fuckin’ killin’ me.”

but it’s too late.

your body’s greedy.

you grind down again—slow, thoughtless, dizzy—and your hips roll just right, angling perfectly, and suddenly you slip.

lower.

deeper.

your eyes snap open.

he gasps—loud, choked, shocked.

you freeze.

and the second he’s all the way in—buried to the base—you scream.

not loud, but ragged. guttural. like the air’s been punched from your lungs and replaced with heat and pressure and the overwhelming stretch of being full.

you’re shaking. writhing. every nerve ending flaring at once. your hands claw at his chest. you can’t breathe. can’t think.

“oh my fuck, baby—” schlatt grits out, voice wrecked, hands flying to your hips like he’s trying to steady himself before he loses all control.

your body clenches around him on instinct—so tight, so wet, so goddamn full of him it’s like your body doesn’t know whether to panic or come.

“i didn’t mean to—” you gasp, tears in your eyes, head spinning. “i just—it just slipped—”

“i know, i know,” he breathes, voice wild, thumb brushing your hip like it might calm you down—even as his grip twitches, even as every muscle in his body begs him to move.

but he doesn’t.

not yet.

because when he looks down—it’s right there.

the base of his cock flushed dark, your folds swollen and stretched taut around him, a slick, shiny ring where your body’s clinging like it doesn’t want to let him go. like you were built for this.

he groans, deep and guttural. “jesus christ.”

you blink down at him, dazed. “what?”

“look at this,” he mutters, dragging his eyes down to where your bodies are still locked. “look at this. you’re fuckin’ made for me.”

his hand slides between your thighs—spreads you open just enough that you both get a better view.

your breath stutters.

because fuck, it’s obscene.

the size difference, the way he fills you, how swollen and stretched and stuffed you are—it’s so much. too much.

and still, your cunt clenches around him again like it wants more.

he grabs your hips—rough now, greedy—and starts grinding into you, slow but deep, like he wants to feel every inch of your walls wrapped around him, stretching, clenching, taking.

“oh, my fuck, baby—” he hisses, watching where he disappears inside you. “it fits. it fits. i can feel your cunt choking on it. look at how tight you are—look at how deep i am—fuck—”

he laughs under his breath. wrecked.

your hips twitch at his words.

you’re still panting. flushed and sensitive and wide-eyed. “i didn’t mean to take all of it—i just—i wanted more—”

“i know,” he says again, gentler now. “but all of me? on your first time?”

his head drops. his forehead rests against yours.

“fuck, you’re unreal.”

then he pulls back just an inch—slow, cautious, like he’s testing the water—and your body on top of his.

his jaw clenches. his hands twitch against your hips like he's holding back something barely contained. he drops his forehead against yours again—like he’s trying to ground himself in your skin instead of the way you feel wrapped around him.

you whimper softly, body twitching with aftershocks, and that’s when he really looks at you.

eyes wild.

lips parted.

hair a mess.

his gaze drops between your bodies—where he’s still buried, where he can feel you throbbing around him, leaking down his length—and something shifts.

he exhales.

rough. shaky. dangerous.

like he’s one wrong move from losing control all over again.

“baby—” he murmurs, voice low and fraying. “i need to—”

he cuts himself off. swallows. you watch his jaw clench.

then softer, almost pleading:

“can i take over?”

you blink up at him, dazed and glowing, still fogged with the kind of high that leaves your soul floating.

“…please,” you whisper.

“fuck yes,” he growls—and then you’re weightless.

in one swift movement, he slips out and flips you onto your back, spreading your legs with zero hesitation. the air hits your slick skin and you shiver—but he’s already there, lining himself up, kissing your knee like it’s the last gentle thing he’s got in him.

and then—

he thrusts in again. deep. hard.

the new angle makes you see stars.

his piercing brushes right there—a heavy, deliberate drag against your cervix that makes you gasp, body seizing up around him.

“there it is,” he growls, watching your face twist with pleasure-shock. “you feel that, baby? you feel me all the way up there?”

you can’t answer. your mouth is open, soundless, tears pricking at your lashes from the intensity.

he grabs your thighs, spreading you wider, pulling you down onto him like he’s got something to prove.

like he’s trying to brand you from the inside out.

“fuck—this pussy—i knew it was good, but goddamn.”

you sob out something close to his name, and he loses it.

he leans over you, caging you in with his forearms, his hips slamming into yours with loud, wet slaps that echo off the room.

“taking me so fuckin’ good,” he pants, voice right in your ear. “letting me ruin you, sweetheart. letting me fuck you dumb on your first time.”

“say it,” he demands again, voice shredded. “say it’s mine.”

and then—without thinking, without breathing, without even realizing what you’re about to say—

you choke out:

“it's already yours.”

his whole body jerks.

he stills—deep inside you, cock twitching, throbbing, fighting for control he doesn’t have.

his eyes snap open. meet yours.

and something in both of you just breaks.

the tension snaps like a wire under pressure—and you both come together.

you sob. your body locks around him. your vision goes white at the edges.

he groans—deep, animal, like he’s never felt anything like this before—and spills inside you, hips grinding down to push every drop as far in as it’ll go.

neither of you move. not at first.

just panting. shaking. stunned.

and then, slowly—so slowly—he pulls back just enough to watch it happen.

his cock slips out, wet and swollen and trembling, and a thick string of cum follows, dripping out of you in slow, obscene globs.

he watches it—entranced. then looks at you again. hair wild. eyes glassy. body still trembling with aftershocks.

he exhales, rough and ragged, like he’s trying to catch up with himself.

“shit,” he mutters. “okay. hang on, baby.”

he moves fast—but gentle. stands, tucks himself back into his boxers with one hand, and disappears down the hallway. you blink, dazed, and only just register the sound of running water.

when he returns, he’s got a warm, damp washcloth. his brows are drawn, focused—his expression all quiet care and no teasing for once.

“lift your hips for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, kneeling beside you again.

you do. barely.

he takes over—one hand cradling your thigh, the other so gentle as he wipes between your legs. cleaning you. soothing you. making sure you’re okay.

“think i might’ve overdone it, huh?” he murmurs. “first time and i go feral like a fuckin’ animal…”

you shake your head, still hazy. “was perfect.”

he exhales—almost a laugh, almost a sigh—and kisses your knee.

“lift your arms,” he says next, reaching behind for the throw blanket. “we’re not sleeping on the couch. not after what we just did to it.”

you comply, sluggish and boneless. he bundles you up in the blanket like a little caterpillar in a cocoon, one arm wrapping under your legs, the other steady at your back.

“jesus christ,” he mutters, grinning to himself as he picks you up. “third date and i’ve already fucked up your ability to walk. great impression, schlatt.”

“you’re doing amazing,” you mumble into his neck, eyes heavy, lips smiling.

his condo’s quiet except for the shuffle of his steps, low muttering as he opens the door to his bedroom with his shoulder. it’s clean—cool gray sheets, big comforter, scuffed dresser with tiny tower of hats, an empty glass on the nightstand, his cologne still hanging in the air.

he sets you on the edge of the bed, then disappears into the closet.

“don’t even think about crashing in that dress,” he calls, rummaging.

you blink, foggy. “but it's...pretty comfy.”

“it’s not sleepwear, toots. catch.”

he tosses a shirt—soft, black, oversized. you tug it on with wobbly arms, his shirt swallowing your frame, no panties in sight, letting it fall down past your thighs. schlatt turns back around once you’re changed, holding out a water bottle and two pills.

“advil,” he says. “preventative. i know it’s gonna hit you in the morning.”

you swallow them, obedient, and let him help you into bed. the mattress is warm from the sheets, and you sink in immediately.

he joins you a beat later—still in his sweats, shirt rucked up slightly—and pulls the blanket over both of you. his arm slides around your waist. his other hand rests over your stomach, fingers grazing against your skin, almost tickling you.

his voice is quieter now. lower. honest.

“…you okay?”

you nod into his shoulder. “mhm.”

“wasn’t too much?”

“you asked. every time.”

a pause. then, softly:

“i’m really glad it was you.”

his fingers flex against your side. he presses a kiss to your temple.

“i know it’s only been three dates,” he murmurs, “but i really fucking like you.”

your breath catches. you tilt your head to meet his eyes.

they’re softer than you’ve ever seen them. tired. awed.

“i wanna be your boyfriend,” he says simply. “if you’ll have me.”

your chest swells. you smile.

“yeah,” you whisper. “i want that. i'd really, really like that.”

he exhales like he’s been holding it in for hours. “jesus. okay. okay, good.” he buries his face in your hair, arms tightening around you. “best third date i’ve ever had.”

you huff a sleepy laugh. “me too.”

the rest of the night settles around you in warmth and softness and the steady thump of his heartbeat, echoing against your back.

[mrssabinecallas]

i need him BIBLICALLY.

Tried something new 🫡

(rae.xcc on tiktok)

[mrssabinecallas]

dude, what the actually FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO i didn’t know voltron got taken off of netflix until rn and im actually sobbing. im not paying $15 for ONE season???? what kind of bullshit is this?!? fuck you apple tv, fuck you amazon prime, and TRIPLE fuck you to netflix for taking it off in the first place. dude i’m actually so upset i wanted to binge it again what do i do :(

IF ANYONE HAS ANOTHER WAY TO WATCH IT PLEAAAASE LMK

[mrssabinecallas]

Schlatt jerking off to the pretty sun dress photos you send him 😇!

╭﹐✦˚₊· 𖤐 * pressed for time ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ╮ imagine: he’s stuck late at the office. you’re feeling flirty. what starts with a sundress ends in disaster (and a happy ending). ╰﹒♡₊˚๑ *✧﹒✦ ࣪ ˖ ┊

﹒₊✦ a/n: for the angel behind this sinful little request ♡ i may…have gone overboard. you’re welcome??

warnings: explicit content (MINORS DNI !!!) · suggestive texting · phone/voice interactions · office setting · exhibitionist behavior · dom/sub language · degradation · reader...being my type ;))

enjoy, pervs (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

✧✧✧

he’s supposed to be working.

last meeting of the day, notes still open on his laptop, blinds half-drawn in the corner office where no one ever bothers to knock.

and that’s when it happens.

the text isn’t anything dramatic—just a casual “babe, look how cute this is?? 🥺”

and then three photos. mirror selfies. sundress. bare thighs. your expression scrunched up a little, your lips pouty, your eyes wanting...hungry, almost.

his brain short-circuits.

he stares. blinks. stares again.

somewhere between opening the first photo and swiping to the second, he forgets what project he was working on. what time it is. whether the door’s even locked.

he’s hard.

SCHLATT: where you think you’re goin’ in all that, angel?

the typing bubble appears instantly.

YOU: just the farmer’s market 😇

YOU: unless you’re gonna keep me busy?

he adjusts in his seat, jaw tightening. the tension low in his belly curls tighter.

SCHLATT: everything you wear is distracting. everything you don’t wear is distracting. you could show up in a fuckin’ parka and i’d still be hard.

YOU: so what you’re saying is… i’m the problem 😔

SCHLATT: i’m saying i need a warning or a break or a fuckin miracle

and then?

another image.

closer this time. the curve of your chest. the neckline pulled just low enough to show the soft swell of your tits. no bra. no shame. a tease of lace and sunlit skin.

his hand drops to his lap.

YOU: what, this? you’re telling me this is enough to ruin you?

he stares.

his cock twitches. his zipper’s already undone.

SCHLATT: send another. lower. please.

✧✧✧

you leave him on read.

he waits. thirty seconds. a minute. nothing.

so he does the only thing he can think to do—unfastens his belt, pushes his jeans low, wraps one hand around his cock, and angles his phone down with the other.

not even posed. just him—shirt pushed up, face flushed, cock hard and twitching in his fist.

he sends it.

your reply comes in a heartbeat later.

YOU: …you’re so embarrassing 😵‍💫

YOU: gimme two minutes

SCHLATT: i told you i’m so fuckin hard for you hurts, baby. i’m dying over here

ding.

photo incoming.

he groans before he even opens it—because he knows.

and yeah. it’s lower.

sundress bunched up around your waist. thighs spread. nothing underneath.

a hint of slick between your legs. one hand teasing the hem higher, the other clearly between your thighs.

no caption. just a trap.

his fist tightens. hips jerk. he strokes once, twice, eyes glued to the screen like it’s gospel.

YOU: be good and make a mess for me?

YOU: use that mouth too tell me how bad you want it

he chokes on a moan, trying to keep his breathing even—like anyone could walk by. like anyone might hear.

“fuck, baby,” he pants. “you don’t get it. i’d drop to my knees for this...for you.”

another stroke. slow. wet. thumb swiping over the head.

“you’d ride me in that dress, wouldn’t you? let me ruin it. stretch you out. make you drip for me.”

ding.

and another.

the sundress is still on—technically.

but the neckline’s been tugged down, pulled low enough to free your tits, soft and full and already flushed.

the hem’s hitched up past your hips, gathered in one hand so the fabric’s bunched around your waist.

everything in between? completely bare.

legs spread. chest out. skin glowing.

you’ve got one hand at your chest, fingers lazily circling a nipple. the other? disappearing between your thighs.

you knew he’d lose it.

he nearly cums on the spot.

YOU: was thinking about your hands under this dress all morning …still am

he groans—long, guttural, desperate. his free hand fists in his hoodie. the other moves faster now, rougher, twisting just under the head.

“fuckfuckfuck—you’re gonna kill me,” he grits out.

then a voice note.

you. whispering.

“this what you wanted, big guy?”

his hand moves faster. sloppier. the chair creaks.

"fuck, i miss you…why are you staying overtime at the office, when i'm back home, just sitting here, desperate to be filled by you…"

“fuuuck—baby—gonna cum—”

rrrringgg.

✧✧✧

the desk phone blasts to life, shrill and way too fucking loud.

he jerks forward, startled, fist still wrapped around his cock—but he doesn’t stop.

rrrringgg.

he hisses through his teeth. “no, no, fuck—”

it’s instinct that makes him grab the receiver. maybe shame. maybe the sheer panic that someone might come knocking if he doesn’t answer.

“yeah?” he manages, voice cracked and breathless.

there’s a pause.

he looks down at the work phone. at his cock. at the fresh notification lighting up his personal cell from where it’s propped beside him:

[5] new images from: baby 💗

god fucking dammit.

“hey, uh, it’s wendy? from hr?” she says, chipper and way too loud through the shitty office speaker. “just wanted to check on the compliance forms from last week. the shared folder’s missing your initials.”

his hips stutter, fucking into his hand under the desk.

he bites back a moan. clenches his jaw so hard it aches.

“y-yeah,” he croaks, staring down at the photo you sent. “i’ll… take care of it.”

there’s the quiet rustle of paper on her end. “cool! just needed to know before i close out for the day. appreciate you, by the way! some of the guys still haven’t logged their trainings.”

he grunts something that sounds like a yes.

his hand’s moving again. slower, now. sneakier. each stroke shallow and maddening. he’s leaking so much it’s starting to pool in his palm.

he bites his lip, hard enough to nearly bleed, trying to muffle every sound.

buzz. another photo. buzz. a voice memo.

his eyes roll back.

“…are you okay, sir?”

“fine.” his voice breaks. he clears his throat. “fine. just—long day.”

“totally get that,” wendy chirps. “have a good night, then, sir.”

“mhmm, you too—” he chokes, barely waiting for the click before slamming the receiver down.

his whole body’s trembling—chest heaving, cock still twitching in his fist, cum so close he can taste it in the back of his throat. all it would’ve taken was another stroke. a whisper from you.

and then—

his phone screen lights up.

a tiny red bar at the top.

recording… 01:42

“…what the fuck?” he mutters.

he must’ve tapped it. somewhere in that horny haze, fumbling for volume or the camera, his thumb must’ve started a voice message—recording every shaky breath, every muffled groan, every whisper from hr that he tried to grunt through.

he fumbles to stop it. but he’s still leaking, his hand still sticky, and when he tries to hit the delete button—

he hits send.

it takes a beat before he realizes what just happened.

before he sees the screen say:

audio sent.

to: y/n

✧✧✧

“no—fuck—shit, no no no,” he gasps, dropping the phone in his lap like it burned him.

there’s a pause.

and then—

YOU: just listened. holy fuck.

YOU: you were actually jerking off while she was talking, bby?

he buries his face in his hands. lets out a strangled sound that might be a moan. might be a whimper.

YOU: you’re so sick. i want you so bad.

his face is still buried in his hands when his phone starts buzzing.

this time? it's his personal phone.

it’s you.

facetime request.

his heart stutters.

he hesitates. thumb hovering over the screen.

and then he answers.

the camera opens on your face—smirking, flushed, a little out of breath. maybe from laughter. maybe from something else.

“hey, big guy,” you purr, voice thick with heat. “you okay over there? you sounded so desperate on that voice note…”

he groans. deep. broken. doesn’t even pretend to deny it.

“jesus,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “i thought i was gonna die.”

“I figured I’d help you start over,” you say, voice gone soft, low, lethal. “Since you accidentally sent me a voicemail of you jerking off in your office like a filthy little freak.”

✧✧✧

then the camera flips.

your tits. out. that fucking sundress still on.

one hand teasing over your chest, the other already dipping down between your legs.

he groans again—head tipping back, thighs spreading wider. his hand’s already back around his cock, no shame now, just heat and hunger and that unrelenting ache.

then the camera flips.

your tits. out. that fucking sundress still on.

one hand cupping your chest, thumb brushing over a nipple. the other? already sliding down—disappearing beneath the bunched-up skirt.

he groans again—head tipping back, thighs spreading wider. his hand’s already back around his cock, hips twitching with how badly he wants it. no shame now. just heat. hunger. that unbearable, unrelenting ache.

“wait,” you say, voice dropping to something quieter. hotter. “don’t look away. i wanna see.”

your eyes lock through the screen.

“i wanna watch you stroke yourself for me.”

his breath catches.

“please,” you add, gentler now—but still so in control. “just like before. messy. fast. please, baby? i wanna hear you…”

he whines. actually fucking whines.

because of course he does. you’ve got your fingers gliding between your folds like it’s nothing, like you’re not completely soaked from teasing him. and he’s sitting there in his button-up, tie askew, chest heaving, jerking off to the sight of you falling apart in real time.

“that’s it,” you breathe, eyes hooded. “good boy. just like that.”

his head rolls back.

“bet it’s leaking again,” you murmur. “bet you’re so close already, just from hearing my voice. you gonna cum again for me, baby?”

he nods—frantic, almost. still working himself through slick, tight strokes. his legs tense, hips lifting off the chair.

“gonna cum—fuck, baby, keep talking—please, i’m so fucking close!"

but your voice doesn’t soften. it dips.

low. sharp. cruel.

“oh, you are close, huh?”

he freezes—chest heaving, hand trembling where it’s wrapped tight around his cock.

“of course you are. pathetic,” you hiss, just barely biting the word. “i send a couple pictures, and now you’re panting in your office like a dog in heat.”

“fuck—” he gasps. his hips twitch helplessly.

“you couldn’t even wait ‘til you got home. had to jerk off at your desk like some perv.”

you’re still touching yourself, slow and lazy now. like this is nothing to you. like you know you’re driving him insane and love every second of it.

“look at you,” you croon. “you’re red. sweaty. leaking like a goddamn faucet.”

he moans—high and needy, nearly shaking.

“what would they all think if they saw you like this?” you whisper. “mister big shot, cock in hand, whining like a slut just because i showed you a little skin.”

he’s trying to breathe. trying to stroke. trying not to cum too soon, but fuck, you’re not making it easy.

“you wanna cum, don’t you?” you taunt.

he nods frantically, mouth open.

“then beg for it.”

his voice cracks—“please—fuck, please let me—need to so bad—been thinking about you all day, been hard since you texted me—”

“you’re so fucking weak,” you sigh. “i bet you’d cum just from the sound of my voice if i let you.”

and then you lean in, eyes wicked, voice low:

“be a good boy, and finish for me.”

that’s all it takes.

his back arches. his fist tightens. a ragged moan rips from his throat as he spills across his hand and belly—messy, hot, completely ruined. he barely manages to keep his phone upright, catching your devilishly pleased half-lidded gaze as his vision goes white.

he cums hard—hips stuttering, hand sticky, whole body shuddering as your voice carries him through it.

and when it’s over, when the tremors ease and his breathing slows, he slumps back into the office chair like he’s been defeated.

face flushed. shirt wrinkled. lashes fluttering like he’s on the verge of sleep.

“…jesus,” he whispers. “i think you just ended me.”

you smile—genuine this time. voice going warm and fond, like flipping a switch.

“poor baby,” you coo. “you should’ve waited ��til you got home. i would’ve taken real good care of you.”

his breath hitches, and he lets out a soft, fucked-out laugh. “i think you did, sweetheart.”

you pout. “not enough.”

there’s a pause. a hum of soft static between you.

“hey,” you murmur, thumb brushing over the camera. “you okay?”

“yeah,” he says, voice a little hoarse. “yeah, ‘m okay.”

your voice drops quieter. sweeter.

“can’t wait for you to come home. i’ll run a bath. make something warm. let you lay on top of me and fall asleep.”

he hums, eyes fluttering shut. “you’re too good to me.”

“no,” you tease. “you’re just extra cute when you’re all fucked out.”

he huffs a breath of a laugh, then cracks one eye open.

and it changes.

something slow and sharp creeps into his voice.

“baby…”

you pause.

“yeah?”

he licks his lips. smirks.

“you didn’t cum yet.”

your breath catches.

“no,” you admit softly.

his voice goes low. commanding.

“then don’t get too comfortable. i’m coming home to finish the job.”

you let out a breathless laugh—half nervous, half delighted.

“yes, sir.”

[mrssabinecallas]

lowkey half of my joy from a date with death came from my pet

i had a bunny and on a whim i named her rita and i swear to god rita was the second best part of the game.

JUSTICE FOR RITA ✊🏼✊🏼✊🏼

[mrssabinecallas]

OLBA, error143, and a date with death 🤑🤑🤑

THOSE ARE MY BABIES RIGHT THERE BRO I LOVE MY MEN

📑The games appearing inside (in clockwise order)📑

▸the kid at the back ▸Mushroom Oasis ▸文字化化 ▸14 Days With You ▸A DOUBLE SIDED MIRROR ▸Our Life Beginnings & Always ▸Where Winter Crows Go ▸Duality ▸Error143 ▸A Date with Death ▸MonsterxMediator

Thank you very much for the existence of these games; they have healed my soul (´-ωก`)

[mrssabinecallas]

ME ME ME ME ME ME

Maybe this is too niche of an audience but I rlly wanna write a jschlatt x hairdresser!reader 🤭

I WANT TO THINK ABOUT HIM RUBBING MY SHOULDERS AFTER I HAVE A FULL DAY OF FOILING 😭

[mrssabinecallas]

Good GOD

[mrssabinecallas]

imagine being schlatts wife going through a rough depression-

and you have the most amazing husband that stays right by your side

— . — . — . —

- schlatt, who makes sure you eat at least a little for lunch and dinner, knowing you won’t eat if he doesn’t insist

-schlatt, who will give you your space while he works, but makes sure to text you or come give you a quick kiss to check in on you every few hours

-schlatt, who will gently pry you out of bed to run you a quick shower, gently bathing you and washing your hair

-schlatt, who will wash your face with a cloth and spread soft lotions on your skin to make sure you’re still taken care of

-schlatt, who will brush and braid your hair when it gets unruly, and you usually don’t like when it touches your neck, you just don’t have the energy to care anymore

-schlatt, who will drive as long as it takes to get you food you want because for once you’re craving something rather than starving

-schlatt, who will take you out on the back porch just to get you a little vitamin d once a day

-schlatt, who will hold you while you cry, asking him why he does all of this for you

-schlatt, who will reply with a simple kiss to the temple and a soft, “because i love you, toots”

[mrssabinecallas]

schlatt in the new sleep deprived liars bar video when he says “cmon now” in the southern accent…

AAAAAUGHH MY GOD. OH MY DAYS SAVE ME.

[mrssabinecallas]

Catching Up || Tim Bradford

pairing: tim bradford / formermilitary!fem!reader

in which tim runs into an old soldier he used to know in the bustling city of los angeles.

*guys i tried to hard to not use y/n or y/l/n but im sorry it had to be done :(*

cw! intended lowercase, not proofread, fluff, mentions of abuse and cheating, hints of smut of you squint towards the end :)

gif not mine, creds to owner above!

it had been 15 years since tim bradford had made his decision to retire from active duty in the army. shortly after he made that decision, he regretted it. becoming a cop? boy, was he stupid, it would never work out. now, 15 years later, he likes where he ended up. 12 years as a TO, and a bit of being a sergeant under his belt, he could’ve never predicted this is where he would be in the LAPD.

it was another day out on patrol, lucy chen sitting in the passenger seat of his shop, chattier than ever. tim just wanted the quiet, but he knows how she is. she won’t shut up for anything.

“so- anyways. we get to the restaurant, and he told me he had a reservation. turns out he lied, and the wait was over an hour. literally, the worst first date i think i’ve ever been on,” lucy rambled on, and tim added his two cents every now and then. it was a surprisingly quiet morning, very few calls coming in, and other units would attatch before he could. so, he resorted to traffic stops to try and make time go a little faster.

in this particular traffic stop, he pulled over a man for running two stop signs. when running his license, tim found out he was flagged as a suspect in a few armed robberies in the last few weeks. he decided to take a peak through the windows, seeing if he could spot anything to make the morning more interesting.

as he leaned back to hand the driver his license and registration, he saw two guns lying in the backseat floorboard. not very well hidden, he thought.

“sir, do you have a license to carry those firearms?”

“what firearms? i don’t have anything.”

“uh-huh. sure. and i’m a property brother. now, ill ask again, do you have a permit to carry the two weapons in your backseat?”

before the man responded, he looked over at lucy, standing on the passenger side, and slammed on his gas pedal. tim cursed under his breath as he took off back to the shop, and sped after the driver.

“07-adam-19, we are code 3, on road pursuit of a suspect of a few armed robberies, he is armed. gray sedan, driving 55 on melrose. requesting backup and airship.” he commands over the shop’s radio.

following the driver, he loses sight of the sedan in the traffic of lunch rush. “shit.”

“there!” lucy, quiet as she’s been all morning, pipes up and points to the vehicle turning onto a one-way road downtown.

“he’s driving against traffic on a one-way, is he trying to get killed?” tim questions, following in close pursuit.

“maybe he thinks we won’t follow him down a one way?” lucy chimes in.

before tim can manage to respond, they watch the gray sedan crash head on into a semi. glass shatters everywhere, the car seemingly crushing on impact. tim quickly parks the shop, and they run over to the accident, checking on the man inside.

“sir- sir are you alright?” lucy asked, concerned. in response, the man groans.

“well, he’s alive. let’s assess injuries and take him in.”

they pull the man out of the car, scanning for injuries, but surprisingly the man is barely hurt. lucy heads over to the semi to talk to the driver, while tim cuffs the owner of the sedan and guides him into the shop. the ride back to the station was quiet, filled with the occasional radio chatter.

“a property brother, huh?” lucy teases.

“i think i would be a hell of a property brother.”

“i mean, you look the part. you’re just to grumpy to be on tv.”

tim just sighs. as they pull back into the station, tim takes the suspect in for processing while lucy takes the guns found in the car to evidence. as tim is processing and prepping the paperwork, he sees a face he hasn’t seen in a very long time.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

it had been 8 years since you made the decision to retire from active duty in the navy. shortly after you made that decision, you decided it was the best decision you had ever made. going back to school, getting a degree to help better the world and the people in it. not to mention your divorce. that had quite an impact on your decision.

you saw first hand the mental toll that special forces, well, military life in general had on people that decided to join. this included yourself, close to your breaking point with the physical and mental demands of special ops. you decided to use your GI bill to go back to school and get your psychology degree, trying to help those who struggled as you did.

now, 8 years later, you had been a successful therapist and mental health counselor in los angeles. it was a change of pace from the constant, bustling military life you had gotten used to, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything. getting to hear all kinds of stories from all kinds of people was the highlight of your career.

a few weeks ago, you received word that the mid-wilshire police department contacted you about a new task force: criminal psychology and recovery. after some back and fourth, you had a meeting with sergeant grey and the union rep, officer nolan, set for this morning.

walking into the alive station was caffeine to your veins. it reminded you of being on-duty, reliving your life on base or on a ship. walking up to the front desk, you politely let the officer know you’re here to meet with grey.

after a few minutes, a stoic man shakes your hand and introduces himself as sergeant wade grey. formal introductions are made as he leads you back to his office, handing you a visitor pass.

“please, take a seat. officer nolan should be here any minute, can i get you anything?”

“i’m alright, thank you sergeant.”

“please, call me wade. now, i understand you were in the military? what happened there, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“of course! i was in the navy, worked special ops. after a few years, i saw and felt how taxing it was for myself and fellow sailors, so i decided to do something about it. got my degree in psychology, and started working mental health counseling.” you explained to wade, animatedly moving your hands.

“interesting. what kind of work did you do in special ops?”

before you could respond, an older man walks in. “sorry i’m late, got caught up in processing. ms y/l/n, nice to finally meet you! i’m officer john nolan, and im looking forward to what you have in mind for this new project.”

the three of you go back and fourth for roughly an hour, talking specifics of the program and nailing down a solid plan. you jot down notes on your phone, and before you know it, you’re set to head an LAPD task force in two weeks.

standing, you shake sergeant grey and officer nolan’s hands, as they begin to walk you out. from behind, you hear a somewhat familiar voice ring out.

“y/l/n?”

you turn, facing the sound.

“bradford?”

you’re both shocked to see each other, standing in silence for just a moment before he approaches you for a hug.

“it’s been a while! since when were you in LA?” he questioned, a small smile shining through his grumpy work persona.

“a few years now, actually! started mental health counseling around here about four years ago,” you explained, while nolan and grey just look at each other and back to you and bradford.

“wait, bradford you know ms. y/l/n?” john questions, trying and failing to piece it together without an explaination.

“yeah. we, uh, worked a few operations together back in my army days. this girl is hell of a leader, i’ll tell you that. she led an ops team of army, navy, and marines into a huge crack in enemy territory. gave us the upper hand in a ton of future fights.” tim compliments, focusing on you.

“oh please, i led my people, you led yours. don’t give me all the credit bradford.” you laugh. you forgot how easy it was to be around him and banter.

“yeah yeah. well, i do have to head back, gotta process this S.O.B. so we can hit the streets again. hey, why don’t we catch up? grab drinks, on me?”

“sounds like a plan, what time do you get off?”

“8:00.” you open your phone calendar to add “drinks with tim” into the 8:00 spot, and slide the device back into your pocket.

“well as lovely as this has been, i have a lot of work to do, yknow, setting up a new program and all. officer nolan, sergeant grey, lovely to meet both of you, and ill stay in contact. tim, ill see you tonight!” you wave as you walk away.

the rest of the day seems to fly, contacting some of your colleagues to aid you in this new project. tim seems to feel the same, arresting a few people and filling out paperwork. by the time 8 pm rolls around, you find yourself texting tim.

Tim

———

-hey, where we headed for drinks?

there’s a bar down the street from the station, meet me there? -

-perfect, i’ll be there in 10 :)

you smile and shift your car into drive, enjoying the peaceful california evening. after a few minutes, you push open the door to a small bar called “the hard road bar.” glancing around, you spot tim in a booth against the wall.

sliding yourself into the seat across from him, you exchange your hellos, as a waitress comes up to ask for your drink orders. tim gets a whiskey neat and you order two shots of tequila.

“so, mental health counseling, huh?” tim questions as the waitress walks away.

“yeah! special ops is draining, and i saw how bad it affected people. so i wanted to help.” you give him the brief explanation, and bounce a question back onto him. “how’s police work going? last time we talked was, what, 9 years ago? you were barely touching the surface of your job now.”

“it’s good! i enjoy it. keeps me busy, i get to protect people, and teach the next generation of officers. it’s hard a lot of days, but seeing that people are being helped and trouble is taken off the streets makes it worth it. oh! how’s shawn?” he ricochets back.

you pause. you weren’t expecting him to ask about your ex-husband. tim seems to notice your hesitation. “you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to-“

“-no! no, it’s okay. uh, shawn and i got a divorce 8 years ago. part of the reason i retired, i needed to get the hell away from him.”

“woah, what���s the story there?” he questions, as the waitress sets down your drinks, and he picks up his glass.

“to make an overwhelmingly long story short, shawn cheated, i found out and filed for divorce. he did not make the process easy, but a few bruises and court dates later, i’m free.” you pick up one of the shot glasses, throwing it back as the liquor burns your chest.

“damn, he cheated? on you? and- what do you mean bruises?” he questions as he lifts his glass to his lips.

“well… when i found out he was cheating, he tried to manipulate me into staying. when that didn’t work, he resorted to… violence. but it’s fine now. he’s in prison for domestic assault charges, and i have his money. so it’s great!”

tim laughs at your last statement, but his expression softens into one of concern. “are you alright, though? i never knew he was the kind of guy to do something like that.”

“yeah, i’m good. whenever he gets out, my lawyer already has the restraining order ready to go. so he won’t be an issue. oh! how’s isabel?”

“ah- my turn for the awkward long story short. we got divorced a few years ago too. she started using and got hooked, i lost contact with her for two years before i could get her into rehab. i broke it off from there,” tim explained, waving his free hand around gently and holding eye contact.

“oh! yknow, out of all things, i never expected that. well, cheers to us being in the same boat, yeah?” you hold up your other shot towards him, and he clinks his glass against yours. as the night drawls on, more drinks and added to the tab, and eventually you both decide to call it quits. drunkenly, but still, call it a night.

as you’re walking next to tim out to your cars, you check your phone and read “1:27 am. damn. that was a lot more time than i thought,” you hiccuped, and looked back up at tim’s face. has he always been that attractive?

“yea’, it definitely was. we sh’uld do ‘t again sometime.” tim’s words slurred, as he leaned closer to you to pull you into a hug.

you leaned into him, and relaxed into his body heat. he smelled nice, like fresh rain and forest. you let your melt under his touch, and you just want to stay there forever.

tim eventually pulls away, but keeps a firm hold on your shoulders. you look up at him, wondering where these sudden thoughts are coming from. he makes eye contact, and his lips part slightly. your eyes snap to this small movement, and you can’t help but wonder how nice of a kisser he would be.

he notices the shifting of your eyes, and before he knows it, his lips are on yours, eyes closed, breathing in your presence. your floral perfume, the fabric of your blouse, the hand he feels caress his face. he wants more of it. he slides his hands from your shoulders to your lower back, and lightly pull you closer.

he suddenly pulls away, panting slightly, and looks back over at his truck. “yknow what, fuck it. wanna keep this going?”

“you know i do, bradford. you know i do.”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

ahh!! i wrote this at 3 am bc i love tim bradford and i need this thought out of my head.

yes, i did do army navy for a reason, go navy, beat army, hooyah, bite me! i had to squeeze it in there!!

let me know if y’all want a part 2!!! i’m more than happy to oblige ;)

[mrssabinecallas]

realest shit i’ve ever seen.

I'm watching schlatts Cooke ranking for the 300000th time and I know what cookie he can have next

[mrssabinecallas]

one of the best works on this platform.

Since @chefskjssart's artwork that I commissioned was such a BANGER, I felt like I needed to do something to show my gratitude. So, I messaged her and gave her free choice over a little One-Shot I'd gift her. And that's how we ended up here :D Where are my little TV Sluts at? You can thank Chef - and I hope you all have fun ;>

NSFW - Explicit Sexual Content - Minors DNI - 5.7k words

"Gotta say, Val, the revenue of your movies really skyrocketed this quarter, fuck me."

Vox flipped through the quarterly reports, eyebrows raised and a grin on his face while Valentino, very pleased with himself, lounged on the chaise next to Vox's desk, smoking.

"I told you I've made a good investment." He grinned and blew out a puff of smoke. "All the horny bitches out there are eating my movies up."

"It's more than that, you're even making headway into other rings, holy shit! We've even got a foot in the Lust Ring market, which is almost impossible with that kind of competition..."

Valentino hummed approvingly.

"And the best part: I didn't have to do much." He added and let the tip of his cigarette rest against his lips, his grin widening. "My newest author is a kinky little genius."

Vox turned his attention to the papers again, his smile slowly turning into a frown as he scanned the declining sales in Voyeurscopes.

"What are you talking about? All of your authors write pretty much the same shit, what could be so special about-"

Valentino laughed and shook his head. "That one is - believe me, carino. Poor bitch has the mind of a succubus on crack but she can't get off."

Vox looked up, an eyebrow raised in skeptic questioning.

"Can't get off?"

"Can't feel anything. Can't cum for the life of her." He replied, leaning back and spreading his arms. "Numb like a fucking dead fish."

"Or maybe she just hasn't found a good dick." Vox mumbled, returning back to the reports, skimming over the numbers.

"Mh, you be the judge amorcito. Because I tried." Valentino growled, taking a drag from his cigarette. 

Now that got Vox's full attention. The TV demon stared at his partner for a few seconds of silence, then laughed maniacally, almost falling off his chair while Val rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Fucking weird little thing, she is. She can write the craziest shit, the hornier the better. Writes like a damn porn beast, but has no clue what good sex actually feels like."

Vox heaved, wiping his screen as if in tears.

"Ohoho, Christ on a Cracker Val, maybe you've been out of the business too long… are you maybe losing that golden touch?"

Valentino sneered. "Ay, and you think you would've been able to get that bitch to cum? Be my guest, I'll gladly watch you fail."

Vox grinned at the moth, his eyes dangerously teasing. The reports were long forgotten - this was too entertaining, and Vox loved to be challenged, because he loved the feeling of superiority he felt when he succeeded. And that feeling would be so much more satisfying when he'd beat his long time partner and porn prince of pride at his own expertise.

"Wanna up the ante? Make a little wager out of it?"

Valentino scoffed, then chuckled deviously. He took another drag from his long cigarette, his cerise teeth glistening with red saliva as he began to drool in anticipation.

"You know I like to play, Voxxy. Especially if the odds are so much in my favor."

Another script done.

Your best one yet, if anyone asked you. But you knew no one asked ever, so why bother?

You stood up from your desk in your private office - being Val's favorite pen pet had it's perks afterall.

You skipped the stage of employment where you'd be cramped in one of these horrible cubicles together with the other overworked, caffeinated and tired writers, typing another outdated secretary-fuck-fest-plot while the other employees complained about their last bad lay and the shitty pay.

At least you didn't have to deal with any of that. Your room was quiet and peaceful, the door able to be locked shut and the walls soundproof. No distractions, no chit chat, no loud coworkers or malfunctioning printer noises. Just the humming sound of your computer, and the whirring of the A/C Val had granted you - a luxury that most of your colleagues bitched about behind your back.

You stretched, your tired bones popping into place and you sighed. You were done for the day. Finally.

With the deadline looming over you, you had been a bit late with the last part, and the thought of being late with your work made you sick. But Val pressed for another banger (pun intended) like your last one, 'Dante's Infern-Hoe' and you didn't want to risk the benefits you were offered so temptingly by being sloppy.

But the script for 'The Devil wears Nada' sat now, freshly printed, next to your laptop, the file saved locally and in the cloud, with about an hour to spare still. You smiled, content and relieved. An hour of paid slacking off was nice, and you checked with a glance that the electric door still was set on LOCKED before you flopped down at the two-seater by the window, grabbing the remote from the small side table and turned on the TV.

A familiar voice spoke through the speakers, and you relaxed into the pillows with a small sigh, eyes closed.

As shitty as the program in Hell was, one thing it had going for it was Vox. That smooth, hypnotizing voice of the overlord that held pride's media empire in his claws was a delight to your ears, and even the mindless, overplayed commercial jingles were pleasant enough if he was the one narrating them.

For the millionth time, it seemed, your hand wandered under the hem of your pants, fingers rubbing lazily at your cunt, as you listened to him talk, advertising the latest angelic protection device that didn't do what he promised it to do.

It was insanity at this point, doing something over and over again expecting a different outcome. Every night your fingers were cold and wet with your slick and your clit bloody and raw while you felt nothing of even your most violent and feverish touches, trying for minutes to hours to experience a sensation you wrote daily about without the satisfaction of any remarkable buildup or release.

It was no use, you knew it was a fruitless attempt, just like all the others. The most you got out of your endless tries was a slight tingle one time where you were so desperate you fucked yourself with an electric rod on its highest setting, resulting in a power outage in your apartment and a big fat fine from your landlord a few days later.

Still, you craved it. Craved to one day feel at least something. After the disappointing One-Night-cannot-Stand-the-thought-of-it with your boss, the literal porn mogul you were ready to just give up. If the face of pride’s sexdrive couldn’t get you over the edge, was there any chance at all?

Valentino had been the last in a long line of desperate attempts, paartners ranging from incubi, paid whores, porn actors to even sexbots made by Asmodeus, costing you a pretty penny just for the hassle of trying to get through the return hotline to get your money back, explaining No, you don’t know how it was possible that the cock of the ‘Fuckboy 3.0 XXL’ broke into pieces after one time usage. 

You chuckled humorlessly at the memory - It was truly a pathetic time in your eternal existence, filled with you masturbating alone in bed like a sad porn star, yearning to experience sex like you wrote about in your scripts. Maybe this was hells way to punish you for your sins, your personal plan of torture - To never experience the very thing that possessed you on the daily.

The television droned on in the background, Vox advertising his latest technological developments; new features on your phone that you really could not care less about. Despite his unusual appearance, Vox was one of your absolute go-to Stand-in's for your plot protagonists. Charming, suave, depraved when called for and a dominating, thorough lover that took what he wanted, but with so much skill that his partner would cum threefold before he'd even begin to think about finishing. Cocky and yet sensual. Aftercare included. All the things your colleagues were too dumb to include, no wonder their scripts were a bust.

Yes, it was hell and therefore tastes were more... depraved than in the living world, but that didn't mean the populus secret wishes for some sort of common sexual decency was out the window, goddamn.

Your mind wandered away from your depressive ruminations, your hand never stopping its circular pattern around your swollen clit as your thoughts started to wander to its usual place, the only way that came close to what you longed for and what was the source for all of your best-selling porn scripts. Your boundless realm of fantasy.

'Come out, come out, wherever you are...'

Vox is standing in your doorway, his silhouette prominent against the bright white neon light coming from the corridor of the empty floor. His suit, neatly fitted to every curve of his slender body, is showing just how thin his waist really is, but that does not come even remotely close to describe his broad shoulders and firm, wide chest, contrasting it deliciously. His navy blue skin reflects the harsh lighting in the hallway, his screen sharp and clear, digital eyes never leaving you as he closes the door behind him, dipping the room you're in in darkness, the only source of light his brightly illuminated screen where his digital, mismatched eyes are solely fixated on you, hiding behind the long backrest of your couch.

'Found you, babydoll.' he says with that god forsaken sultry voice of his as he reaches for your throat, long fingers wrapping themselves around your neck as your breath hitches and he pulls you up from your crouched position, his long tongue running over your collarbones, the wet trails feeling as cold on your skin as his appendage feels hot. 'Now remember what I said? Ready or not...'

He presses you into a wall, his big, hard erection rubbing teasingly through the layers of fabric on your already wet core as you whimper with want. '... here I cum.'

You moan his name, the imagined feeling so painfully surreal, and you wished once more that your working fingers would elicit some sort of real, bodily response.

A cough makes you freeze in your movements. Your fantasy shatters like a mirror shot with a bullet and your eyes fly open, expecting to see maybe a dumb segment of a rerun of 'Vox2Nite'. Instead, you see the actual, real TV demon overlord, standing live and in color just a few strides away with an expression that was a mixture of confusion, curiosity and slight annoyance.

"I'd ask if I am interrupting, but it seems you already had me on your mind, huh, doll?"

Realizing that you weren't - in fact - hallucinating, you immediately whipped your hand out from under your panties, sitting up, flustered like a child caught with their hands in the cookie jar. How did he get in? Did you forget to lock the door? No. Did he unlock it?! You must have missed his opening and closing of the door over the voice in your fantasy. The same voice that is now echoing in reality. Oh what a shameful ending for a perfectly good fantasy orgasm.

"Um... shit, sorry, Mr. Vox, sir. I was just, you know..." you scrambled, getting nervous under the actual gaze of him as he folded his arms, waiting for you to end that sentence with a pitiful smirk. Jesus Christ, those arms are slender and muscular…

"Thinking! Just thinking, making script... scenarios..."

"Uh-Huh. And how is that coming along?" He asked, seemingly unfazed by the display before him as he took a few steps towards you.

"Oh, uh, haha, I didn't really... finish..."

He stopped directly in front of you, shutting you up with a low chuckle and his hand around your wrist, the one attached to the hand that had been in between your folds just literal seconds ago, lifting them up to look at the still shimmering wet residue on your fingers with a sneer.

"Mhm. Yeah, I've heard you have some problems with that."

Now that was embarrassing as it was alarming, and you ripped your hand out of his grip. Or better, you tried to do so anyway. It was a pointless exercise, his hand had an iron-tight grasp around your wrist as he pulled you up with one swift motion, so fast you stumbled into him, face to chest, breath caught in your throat as you were made suddenly aware how huge he really was compared to you.

"W-wow, my kinda pathetic reputation precedes me it seems. That's..." just great is what you wanted to say, but all words failed you when he lifted the hand in his grasp to his face, his thick, long tongue slithering out of his mouth just to wrap itself around your digits, lapping up the sticky residue of your arousal, watching you as your pupils widen and you squirm in his grip, mortified and turned on at the same time.

"Eh. Not as pathetic as my business partner's failure to provide something he's built his reputation on, sweetheart. Unusually smart of him to get you under contract before you shout it from the rooftops." He hummed as he tasted you, sucking in the pads of your finger hungrily and without hesitation, and all you could think of, frozen stiff like a deer in headlights, was: What the fuck is happening?

"But Val never had the kind of mindset I have... I don't do failure... or better said: I always finish what I start." His low rasp vibrated in the air around him, echoing in your head, and the heat his voice had brought to your skin left your mind racing. You asked yourself panicking if you had written too many dumb porn plots or if he was really implicating what you thought he was implicating.

"So, whaddaya say, doll..." His breath tickled your cheek as he leaned in closer, pulling you flush against him, a soft grunt of content as his hard dick pressed into your soft belly, his mouth right next to your ear, one of his hands running teasingly down your sides as he licked your ear shell. "...care to see if I can end your unlucky streak?"

'Fuck, yeah.' You thought, and almost moaned out loud as you let your head fall back to make room for his waiting mouth, when suddenly you stopped in your tracks. His hands were already groping over you greedily, squeezing your ass, your thighs, your breasts as he looked down on you, surprised to see your conflicted face.

"W...Wait. What's in it... for you?"

"Mh, you're clever. That's a new one." Vox laughed, his hand running up to the side of your face to cup your cheek, his thumb rubbing small circles on the corner of your lip. "Me and Val made a little bet, you see, and well... Let's just say: I want this to work out just as much as you do, since my success depends on yours."

"Oh.." So Val was talking about you, that bastard. He had you sign an NDA when he hired you, given that you had been unwilling to make a soul contract with him, but you guessed that that had been naively one-sided. Asshole.

Vox stroked your bottom lip, parting them before you opened them slightly on your own accord, his dark blue tongue languidly tracing the edges, waiting for your decision, coaxing you to decide in his favor. And even though you were kind of pissed at Valentino for running around telling people about your... situation - you couldn't deny it was tempting, turning fantasy into reality. And what was another overlord trying to do the impossible? Worst case - he'd try and fail, just as all the others did before, like the stupid moth pimp. At least you'd have some leverage for maybe another good deal for your silence on it. And in the highly unlikely best case…

With your decision made, you flicked your own tongue against his, humming at the unfamiliar taste and the sizzling static electricity on your tongue. Vox grinned, his sharp teeth pressing onto your lips, nipping at the sensitive flesh and growling with approval when your lips parted.

"Ohoho, baby, this is gonna be fun."

Vox ran his claws through your hair, loosening your already messy bun until your hair fell free with his playful pulls as he explored your mouth, deepening the kiss with every lick, until he could push his whole tongue into your mouth, moaning and grabbing the back of your head tightly as you let him fill you without the slightest hint of protest, fighting a desperate losing battle for air.

"Fuck, don't you need to... breathe?" you whispered after he finally pulled back, a wet trail connecting his tongue to yours, grinning down on you while your lungs burned for oxygen.

"Perks of being state of the art, sweetheart." he watched your swollen, drool covered lips - parted to catch your breath - for a few seconds longer before he inquisitively tilted his head. "Did you feel any of that?"

You contemplated lying, but figured honesty would probably be the best in this situation, shaking your head and giving him your most pitiful attempt at an apologetic smile, already bracing yourself for him to give up or get mad. "My lips tingle a little."

"Mh." He huffed as he pushed you back into the two-seater, your back hitting the cushions with a soft thump, and unceremoniously pulled on your very not-sexy-at-all sweatpants and slightly-more-sexy-but-not-quite panties until they slipped over your legs.

"How about this then?" He pressed his knee in between your legs to nudge them apart. "Can you feel any of this?" He spread your already wet slit open to run a cold claw over your hole, softly dipping first one, then two and lastly three of his fingers inside to stretch you further open and push it back in, repeating the movement slowly while keeping his eye contact trained on your face.

You hummed non-commitally, closing your eyes and pressing yourself into the cushions, trying to feel for any sensation that should come with every slow drag of his digits pumping inside of you, and not finding any of it was so fucking frustrating. You felt like you were not only disappointing yourself, but him, as stupid as that sounded. But with every added finger and still a lack of response, you saw the progression of frustrations in his face that you knew all too well - eyebrows furrowed, irritated twitches of the corners of his lips that turned into a snarl with the third added digit. You frowned, sighing and bit your lip - nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing, and fucking nothing again, just another wet hole, the clenching of your walls a habit and reflex only, no pleasure whatsoever.

"It's no fucking use..." you whined, pressing your hands to your face in frustration and fear of looking back into his eyes, "I can't feel anything at a-aaAAH...!"

Your back arched at this strange jolt running down your spine, forcing you to grind down on his hand as a strong electric current buzzed from his claw tips right through your cunt, curling in your stomach in a hot wave of wanton need and knocking the wind out of you. Your eyes flew open just in time to see the flash of victorious satisfaction on his screen before his face turned fuzzy as you began to tear up.

"There's some reaction. There we go, sweetheart." He cooed and curled his fingers in that deliciously sinful way again, making your breath catch in your throat. For the first time since you can remember, you FELT. You dropped your hands from your flushed, hot face onto the plush of the couch, fingers desperately digging into the fabric, and stared at Vox with wide eyes. He winked, nudging his head to his buried fingers, and with a shattering gasp you could see neon blue bolts of electric sparks traveling down his slender arm, crackling around the soft flesh inside of your pussy that had never felt so sensitive.

"How are y-aaaa.... aaa-AAah...." he silenced any questions you might have had or possible retort with another shock wave traveling through his hand as he dragged his fingers in and out in an agonizingly slow pace, it had your ears ringing with white noise and your eyes water with unknown, strange pleasure.

You were shaking, and though it should have frightened you a lot more than it did to be electrocuted while doing something that could be considered borderline treason to Valentino (And it still had your cunt dripping on a whim), but there was nothing left for you to think of other than the sharp shocks making every nerve inside of you buzz, your thighs already trembling in anticipation of the possibility of an unknown, but oh-so-wanted climax. Yet it was somehow still out of your reach, out of your range of senses.

"I feel like we are getting closer, babydoll." The TV demon chuckled darkly, his voice over amplified, the electrical buzz reverberating loudly in the soundless room. "How 'bout we kick it up a notch, huh?"

He pulled out his fingers in a quick, cruel movement, making your pussy clench around nothing as you already mourned the feeling. Before you had the time to voice your loss however, he had your thighs already in his hands, pushing them back to almost fold you in half and spread them apart as wide as he could get them without hurting you. With a smirk he stuck out his tongue, inhumanely long, thick on its base and pointed at the end - and let his electric energy visibly spark around it. Holy Shit.

The moment his head dipped down and his appendage swiped through your puffed, red folds, you could feel your insides buzz in sync to his delighted moan. He began eating you out feverously and obscenely, not holding anything back, just like you wrote your most popular protagonists to do - NO, this was so much better than anything you've ever written or fantasized about, his tongue twisting in patterns that felt like nothing you've ever even came close to imagine before. It was like he powered your whole nervous system, overriding every strand of nerve with his own electricity, amplifying any touch, any lick and any suction that would normally not even register a thousand-fold.

"O-Oh my g... F-fffuuuuhhh-ck.. meeee..." you moaned in confusion and amazement, your legs shaking helplessly on either side of Vox's rectangle head as he fucked his tongue into you, switching between the deep, long, thorough thrusts and fast, small, teasing flicks into the wet heat of your cunt, coating his screen in a shining mix of your natural juices and his blue neon saliva. He sucked at the protruding of your swollen bundle of nerves, your sensitive clit twitching under his attention - it was maddeningly unreal. You felt like a complete, utter sham - if this was sex, you've never written it anywhere correctly.

"I'm working on that, sweetheart."

Vox smirked against your pulsing core, humming with satisfaction at your wet, gaping slit begging for him to push back in and fill you up again, making you ache for his tongue deeper and deeper, forcing every shred of sense you had to leave your mind as you bucked into his grip in desperation, chasing another intense jolt he held just out of your reach as he laughed deviously at your hungry reaction to his teasing antics.

You didn't care how pathetic you looked, how undignified or desperate you sounded. This was nothing short of fucking fantastic, this all new, unknown sensation that you deemed impossible to ever experience and an real, tangible orgasm so close you could almost grab it. You felt a violent greed, you needed more of this, more more more, you needed to cum and you knew exactly that only Vox was able to do it - but you needed him inside of you, pushing you into oversensitivity, no matter what was required to get you over the edge. Fuck all dignity, that ship had sailed the moment your back hit the couch.

You shook your head vigorously, choking down sobs of grateful pleasure that racked your body with every curl of his tongue inside of you and a guttural moan, high pitched and broken.

"P-Please... ah, Pl..please..." you panted and Vox felt for your thighs to hold you steady. His claws sank in with such force into the soft meat of your legs he drew blood. "F... Fu..Fuck me.. please." you stammered and he smirked, a look of pure joy in his digital eyes as he stared you down.

"Oh, I will, baby." He smiled against your core, curling the tip of his tongue around your clit with just the right amount of pressure that your entire vision went blank with a broken cry and the strongest wave of static he'd managed to work you up to so far. "Don't worry about that, I'm not nearly done with you."

He fucked his long, slippery tongue back into your quivering pussy, his thumb taking the place on the sensitive bundle of nerves where his pointy tip had been and you cried out again as he found that one spot you've always read (and written) about. You had questioned it's actual existence, believing it to be one of those wishful myths girls dreamt and you by proxy wrote about - Until Vox and his fucking talented mouth and miraculous tongue brushed right up against it with expert accuracy. It made your eyes roll to the back of your skull, mouth open to cry out as your back arched like a bow string.

"Yeah, there? F-Fuuuck..." The overlord growled, watching your blissful face twist with a new kind of overwhelming pleasure. "You gonna cum for me baby? Come on, let go, good girl..."

You knew the reader-pleasing phrase by heart. You used it a hundred times and fantasized about it even more - It shouldn't have that effect on you, but yet it was that comment of his, spoken in a raspy low rumble directly into your cunt that finally pushed you over the edge, leaving you panting helplessly and cumming.

Hard. Harder than you've ever dreamed about. Every nerve ending on overdrive, every hair standing on edge - it felt like getting struck by lightning, the static electricity sizzling through your blood vessels like a thunderstorm as he was still thrusting that goddamn magic tongue into your spasming hole through the clamping of your muscles, taking you through it with small, measured licks to keep you on the edge a little longer, whines and hiccups mixed with breathless laughs leaving your raw throat as you slowly returned to reality.

This was it, what you've always longed for, you realized after your vision came back to you, staring down at the smug looking TV demon who was still settled between your legs, his glowing screen painted with the remains of your climax. You managed to give him an exhausted smile, blowing a stray strand of wild hair from your face with a quick puff before dropping your head back in the pillow, absolutely spent. Vox pressed a toothy kiss on your thigh and pushed himself back to his feet.

"You've got quite the gushy orgasm, doll, damn..." he wiped a thick blotch of your arousal from the corner of his screen, the neon blue stained fingertip disappearing in his mouth as he hummed appreciatively and licked it away. Then he looked over you, slumped lazily on the sofa, your face flushed, your hair all tangled and the exposed pieces of skin covered with a shiny layer of sweat.

"Shit, sweetheart, you look goddamn good when you're all messed up like that..." He eyed you intently and leaned down, his heavy frame caging you in underneath him, one hand trailing a line from your still heaving chest, between your breasts and up to your throat.

"T-That was.. wow. Just... wow." Clearly illiterate and 50 IQ-points dumber post-orgasm, you cleared your throat, trying to compose yourself. While you were a little disappointed that you still hadn't really fucked, he did what he promised to do. Got you off - and how. You were grateful.

Sad that it was over, maybe even sadder that the chances of a repetition were likely zero - Vox was a goddamn overlord, and who were you other than a nobody with a hard-to-please cunt?- but grateful nonetheless. And you felt the need to let him know that.

"I don't know how to than... w-what are you doing?"

You sat yourself up on the elbows with a dumbfounded expression as Vox began to undress himself, his jacket, bow tie and undershirt discarded within seconds onto the ground and he practically pounced you as he began to undo the belt of his slacks, trapping you in between his legs and under the very prominent hard-on he sported.

"What, you really thought that was it? Make you cum once, win my bet and ding-dong-ditch like a fucking amateur?" Vox laughed as he pulled his massive length out of his pants - Words were your bread and butter but they would ever fail you to describe the gloriousness that was his cock.

Almost as thick as your underarm, smooth and almost shiny, glowing with built-in LED lights along the underside of his shaft and practically weeping with precum. He knelt down on the sofa, taking your hand to run it over its full length, smearing the sticky residue along your fingers, his almost bioluminescent cum dripping thick and slowly from the angry swollen tip. "Fuck no, sweetheart. In case you forgot, let me remind you..."

He leaned down to your ear, a violent electric bold jolting from his cock through your hand right into your overwhelmed, disbelieving brain as he guided you to line him up with your still throbbing entrance.

"I always finish what I start."

Vox had never been in a better mood.

His phone - finally surviving for more than just a few days, since his win against Valentino prevented the moth pimp from smashing it, even in one of his many temper tantrums - buzzed again. A notification of another upload into the cloud. He smirked when he saw the name of the user.

The whole conversation after he fucked Val's writing savant into Limbo and back had been a fucking blast for Vox - he reveled in the morbid joy of cashing in his stake while teasing Val that he'd have to wait another eternity for the chance to make Vox star in a double length porn with him - a fantasy of the moth Vox has been always against. Not to mention that Vox had accomplished what Valentino with all his 'mighty dicks and porn mastery'-aura couldn't. Which (rightfully) sent him into his biggest hissy fit yet, so enraged that, in lieu of Vox's phone to throw against the wall, he threw his newest Robo-Assistant Kitty out the window.

Although Vox had been certain he wouldn't lose the little bet against his partner, he still felt a little relief that his ass wasn't on the next new load of crappy porn DVDs. Granted, that would've surely caused sales to skyrocket - but with his revived and improved little star author that was more than just unnecessary.

Val's fears that a good dicking with a Happy End would sort of break the little writers 'Sex-Spell' and her scripts turn into shite like the rest of Val's useless crew produced proved to be the exact opposite. Ever since Vox made her cum - on his fingers, mouth and cock for multiple times that fateful night - her scripts improved even more, resulting in stellar sales reports, a major spike in cashflow and a personal inquiry letter for a meeting from Asmodeus himself (which Vox contemplated to frame and hang over his fucking bed like a medal of honor).

And since Valentino, in his hurt pride and childish, stubborn pettiness refused to speak or fuck with him, Vox had no qualms of paying his little writer a few more visits. Every time he found impish joy in finding new ways to make her cum, and after one shag-date where he actually stayed long enough for an after-sex-cigarette and some smalltalk, he discovered that she wasn't just a kinky, but also an interesting bitch with great taste in whiskey and a crude sense of humor that was just up his alley.

"I'm curious doll." Vox said as he took another drag from the cigarette before he handed her the bud, throwing his arm around her shoulders and pulling her onto his bare chest as he lounged on the new, bigger sofa he got for her office (more space and much more versatility) "What the fuck did you do to end up in hell? You don't seem like the ax-murder type."

She chuckled mischievously. "I was a pretty popular crime author back upstairs. I hit a pretty bad writer's block, and decided to get in some field work to inspire me for more creative ways of murder. No axes, but I did have a fable for knives." She grinned, inhaling the thick smoke as he laughed and the way her tits pressed into his skin had him almost hard again. "You know what's the most ironic part?" She asked, putting the bud out in the ashtray on her side table and glanced back over her naked shoulder to him, a devious glint in her eyes. "I got the electric chair for that." That woke his cock fully up again, and he couldn't help but take her for another round.

His assistant babbled something about his schedule, but Vox didn't listen. Instead, he planned on visiting her office again, maybe he'd even stay after and order sushi for two, who knew? The media Overlord smiled smugly as he opened the database and looked over the newest script you had uploaded to the cloud. It was when he read the title that he burst into ringing laughter.

'Electrocutie - One Big Cock Shock'

[mrssabinecallas]

holy shit

"Good morning, my passionate love."

-

Morning Cove gently waking you up. 早晨Cove輕輕地叫醒你的樣子。

[mrssabinecallas]

HELPHELPHELPHELP

Me when I saw Lute:

BOOM!!! more lute for you!! <3 hope u enjoy!! Mwah!!

U can't convince me this pretty bitchy warrior woman does NOT have scars 💕

[mrssabinecallas]

MATCHUPS AAHHH

i love matchups i’ve actually never had one done but i love them :,)

so hii!! can i request a hazbin matchup?

she/her pronouns, female preference please (tho if there is a guy you have in mind you can include them, i’m bi so i don’t care LOL) i’m 5’8, have dark brown hair with red highlights, i don’t have a specific style but i dress more grunge. i listen to rock, punk rock, and indie rock music, and i’m an ambivert (introverted+extroverted). i’m a scorpio and i have some temper and attitude issues, but nothing too terrible. i’m very athletic, i’m always at the gym or working out somehow, and i really enjoy broadcast journalism! it’s the career field i’m going into after i retire from the military :) i also enjoy gaming as a side hobby, though it usually makes me mad so i can’t do it too often..

if there’s any more info you need please

done be afraid to reach out!! i’ve so excited about this eeee

have a good rest of your day and remember to eat something today! <3

ooh hope you like it then!

I match you with...

Lute!

I was a bit undecided but then your pfp inspired me, hope you don't mind

don't worry about having some temper/attitude issues, she's used to putting up with Adam and no one can compare to him when it comes to that

she always has to be in top shape too so I can definitively see some gym dates in your future

she's often very busy but never too much to support you and your ambitions

she isn't the best at expressing her feelings but demonstrates she cares by always being on your side and supporting you

if you lose a game in front of her she's ready to cuss anyone who caused your loss, be it your teammates, adversaries or the game itself. You can do no wrong in her eyes.

Really hope you liked it! Feedback is always appreciated!