#countertops Cumming GA

[rockstarhaechan]

after hours | lee haechan part. 2

pairing: lee haechan x fem!reader

warnings: rockstar hyuck, fwb, smut, cum eating, choking, fingering, oral (m/ receiving), rough sex, unprotected sex (do not), overstimulating, breeding kink, rest of nct dream being mentioned, alcohol & drugs, angst, car sex, pet names (doll, love, darling)

summary: haechan and his band mates were having a lot of concerts in your area, you two always hooked up in the after hours of his concerts, recklessly getting drunk and high, you’ve got fucked by the universe when you started to catch feelings for him.

part one ! next part ?

“what are we gonna do when we get home doll?” he asked you as he turned on the engine, waiting for your answer.

“what about round two?” looking at him while grinning, he pressed down on the gas pedal, eyes locking with yours.

“round two sounds great doll” he smiled before looking at the road again while holding your hand.

haechan opened the door for you as you climbed out of his car taking his hand into yours.

it didn’t even take long until your lips reunite with each other, tongues fighting, but haechan won this time, picking you up as you wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers playing with his hair.

“how are you gonna open the door?” breaking the kiss looking into his eyes, they show pure lust for whatever is gonna happen between the two of you.

“i’m just gonna open the door like a normal person” he laughed while getting the key out of his pocket twisting the lock open guiding you into his home.

haechan hungrily kissed you again, his hands resting on your ass, pulling you closer to him as soft moans were heard in between your kisses.

he carefully walked over to his kitchen, placing you down on the counter as he stood between your spread legs, drawing circles on the inside of your thighs, kisses traveling down your neck stopping at your cleavage.

you can already feel how wet you’ve gotten just by haechan doing his thing on you and as his hand moves even closer to your core you started feeling a tight knot forming in your stomach.

“you’re so needy doll, so wet for me and i already fucked you senseless” he laughed as he inserted two fingers into your dripping cunt.

your mind was blank and you didn’t even noticed how much your body was craving his touch, you fell in love with haechan over the past weeks and you never noticed, not even now as he’s two fingers deep buried inside of you.

“oh fuck hyuck” being the moaning mess you are, trying to close your legs but haechan opened your legs back up with ease, wrapping one hand around your neck, squeezing oh so lightly trying not to hurt you.

haechan liked how rough he could be on you not needing to care about a few bruises or scratches on your body cause it turned you on as much as it turned haechan on.

without any warning he dragged you down from the counter and as soon as your feet got in contact with the ground he turned you around with your back facing him, parting your legs with one of his feet while letting your upper body rest on the countertop.

“you gotta be really quiet doll, don’t want those neighbors to hear you” his voice was soft but you knew he wasn’t gonna be soft on you as you heard his belt being ripped out of his pants and soon felt on your ass cheek letting you breath in harshly with tears forming in your eyes.

haechan unbuttoned his pants before dropping them on the floor with his boxers, pumping himself a few times before lining himself up between your legs, slowly pushing his cock into you.

“fuck doll taking me so well” he groaned while grabbing your ass as he started to move slowly, picking up a faster pace after a few seconds, slamming your hips against the counter each time.

haechan wasn’t going easy on you but you’re still a moaning mess enjoying each and every single moment you two are together.

one of your hands moved to haechan’s hand holding him tightly as you tried to get some words out of your mouth, but almost immediately giving up cause you’re unable to speak properly, tears streaming down your face.

“what’s wrong doll huh?” he asked as his thrusts began to become sloppier and inconsistent as he waited for your answer, giving you a few seconds to breathe.

“g-gonna c-cum fuck” you stuttered, cheek pressing on the counter just when you heard haechan laugh a little, picking up his pace once again, hands digging into your hips almost making you choke on your own spit.

“fuck you wanna come around my dick doll?” he groaned letting out small whimpers as you reached out for his hand once again, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten coming undone around his cock trying to catch your breath.

haechan on the other hand didn’t really care, he slammed his dick into you in an immense pace almost reaching his own peak.

his thrusts were getting faster and sloppier and his groans got louder.

your mind? currently unavailable, haechan fucked you into a new world, leaving you completely breathless with a tear stained face and ruined make up.

“fuck” was all he said before cumming into you, moving back and forth basically fucking his cum back into you.

he turned you around slowly pulling you into a long hug whispering sweet words into your ear, promising you the world which made you fall for him even harder.

haechan did promise you the world a lot, but was he ever doing anything? no he wasn’t but you couldn’t care less, everything he did was perfect for you.

he had no time for a relationship with you yet he still fell for you too, but he would never bother telling you anything about his feelings for you because he rather keeps stuff to himself not wanting to make you worry.

but what if you want to tell him one day? you definitely want more you just don’t know it yet.

[princessmisery666]

Appetizer

Summary: Bradley brings the Dagger team home to meet you. It’s not the welcome you want. You give Bradley a taste of what it could have been and he promises what it will be. 

Warnings: smut (oral - male receiving), fluff. 

W/C: 800

Rating: Explicit - 18+

Characters: Bradley Bradshaw, reader. Mentioned: Hangman, Phoenix, Bob, Fanboy and Payback.

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Fem!reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

A/N: This picture inspired this whole thing.

Betas: @writercole // @therebeccaw // @cockslutpadalecki // all mistakes are my own. 

Graphics: picture source. 

Master Lists: Top Gun: Maverick // Main

Appetizer

The drive home from work is slow, traffic heavier than usual, but it’s Friday night and there’s a bottle of wine with your name on it cooling in the fridge. As soon as your house comes into view, you notice the  unexpected visitor parked in the drive. Putting your foot on the gas, you speed the last few hundred feet. Screeching to a halt a few inches short of the Broncos bumper, you grab your bag and jump out of the car.

You run inside, bursting through the door with excitement. Bradley is waiting in the hallway, a glass of that wine in his hand and a broad welcoming smile. 

“Hey baby,” he says, the husk in his voice traveling straight to your core. “I’ve missed you.”

You don’t say a word, before running at him. He only just  has enough time to put the glass down as you excitedly leap into his arms.

He kisses you breathless and then you rain kisses on his lips, cheeks, nose, head. His chuckles are filled with elated joy as he carries you to the nearest countertop in the kitchen. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home?” you ask, “I’d have taken the day off.” 

“I like to surprise you,” he admits, kissing your neck, “I love to see that stunned smile whenever you’re not expecting me.”

“It’d have been an even better smile if you’d have been naked,” you tease.

He laughs pulling back to look at you, a hand cradling your cheek. “If we had time I would’ve been,” your brow creases with confusion and he elaborates, an apologetic grimace reaching his eyes. “Hangman, Phoenix, Bob, Fanboy and Payback came back with me. They wanted to meet you, we’re meeting them for dinner at seven.” 

You can’t stop the huffing pout from materializing and his grimace morphs to amusement while he chuckles, “I’m sorry, babygirl,” he says, kissing you again. “Go get changed, and I promise as soon as we’re home you can get me naked and I won’t get dressed again until you tell me to.”

Bradley can see your pout from the driver’s seat. It’s adorably amusing and endearing. 

He pulls into the parking lot and finds a space near the back, cutting off the engine. He turns in his seat to look at you.

“Are you going to pout all night?” he asks, smirking. 

“Yes,” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest.

His heartbeat skips and he swears he falls impossibly deeper in love with you in that moment.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Bradley coos. “But it’s only a few hours.”

“It’s been months,” you complain, sliding closer and slipping your hand from his knee up his inner thigh, mouth tracing his. “And now you’re right here,” you cup his cock through his slacks and he jumps slightly before relaxing.

“Fuck,” he whispers, eyes slipping closed, head falling back, as you massage his stiffening cock. 

“What time is it?” you ask, kissing and nibbling his exposed throat.

He lifts his arm to check his watch. “Quarter to.”

“I need an appetizer before dinner,” you say, popping the button on his pants. Bradley readjusts to help you unfasten his pants and free his cock. You grasp him in your hand, pumping him slowly. 

You shuffle down and lick a line from base to tip, swirling your tongue around the dome of his cock, kissing the top, lapping up the pre-cum. 

“You always taste so good,” you moan, wrapping your lips around him and not stopping until your nose hits his stomach.

You suck and lick, hollowing your cheeks, up and down. He’s heavy on your tongue, and you desperately want to feel him at the back of your throat, choke on him. But you can’t. You’ll ruin your makeup.

“Oh shit, that’s good,” he whines, hips rolling and chasing when you draw back.

Bradley’s length and girth always makes you clench your thighs together and the thought of having him buried deep inside of you, fucking you into the mattress later makes you purr delightedly.

The vibration sends him over the edge and he lets himself go, cum shooting down the back of your throat. You make sure to get every last drop, not wanting to leave a mark on his tan pants.

You straighten up, licking your lips and smirk slyly at him but his head is still tipped back, eyes closed. “Delicious.”

Slowly he lowers his head, intoxicated eyes meet yours and cradling your cheek, he sighs, “I love you.”

“Wh-What?” you stutter, “Um, I, I love you, too.”

He kisses you with a hunger and exhilaration you’ve never felt before. He pulls back way sooner than you’re ready for and you can feel the pout returning.

“Don’t get grumpy,” he laughs, “I promise; a couple of hours and I’m taking you home to show you all the ways I love you.”

[teamturvey]

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[sagarg889]

Reverse Osmosis Pump Market Research by Key players, Type and Application, Future Growth Forecast to 2031

According to FMI, the reverse osmosis pump market is expected to exceed US$ 6.1 billion by 2021, owing to rising applications in the oil and gas and water treatment industries. Demand for reverse osmosis pumps is expected to grow at an 8.9% CAGR between 2021 and 2031.

Between 2020 and 2021, the market increased by an astounding 8.7% year on year. It is expected to be worth more than US$ 14.3 billion by 2031. According to projections from the reverse osmosis pump industry, centrifugal pump sales will remain strong, accounting for more than 71% of total income through 2031.

Historically, the reverse osmosis pump market grew at a 3.2% CAGR between 2016 and 2020. The market for reverse osmosis filtration pumps in industrial units and water treatment plants for separating impurities such as arsenic, bacteria, fluorides, and pesticides is expected to increase rapidly.

The coronavirus epidemic has had a favourable impact on property sales. Reverse osmosis systems solve water quality concerns by removing pathogens in the water such as cysts, viruses, protozoans, and others.

Request a Sample Copy of this Report @ https://www.futuremarketinsights.com/reports/sample/rep-gb-11808

Key Takeaways from Reverse Osmosis Pump Market Analysis

In North America, the U.S. is estimated to remain the dominant market, exhibiting growth at a CAGR of 7% over the forecast period.

The market in India is expected to expand at a CAGR of more than 15% through 2031, accounting for over 40% of the sales in South Asia and Pacific region.

Owing to increasing investment in seawater reverse osmosis (SWRO) desalination, the GCC countries are likely to account for a market share of above 49% in MEA.

China, being the largest exporter of machinery required for filtration of water, the market in the country is anticipated to surge at a CAGR of 7.6% through 2031.

Based on the technology type, centrifugal pumps are dominating the segment, accounting for more than 69% of the value share by 2021.

Reverse Osmosis Pump Market Key Drivers

Shortage of clean water supplies is a key factor fueling the demand for reverse osmosis pumps.

Increasing use of reverse osmosis pump in oil & gas industry application is driving the market.

Rising investment in wastewater treatment plants is expected to spur the sales of reverse osmosis pumps.

Reverse Osmosis Pump Market Competitive Landscape

Companies operating in the reverse osmosis pump market are aiming at optimizing product by creating strategic partnerships with other market players to expand their market revenue share. For instance,

In October 2019, Flowserve, an America suppliers of industrial and environmental machinery signed an agreement to provide the main pumps for two large sea water reverse osmosis (SWRO) desalination plants, Rabigh-3 and Taweelah in Saudi Arabia and UAE respectively.

In June 2021, Advanced Watertek, a Dubai based water treatment supplier, announced entering into an agreement to upgrade the existing sea water RO systems to deliver an agreed capacity of 100,000 US Gallons per day in the UAE.

For More Information on this Report @ https://www.futuremarketinsights.com/reports/reverse-osmosis-pumps-market

Reverse Osmosis Pump Market by Category

By Technology Type:

Centrifugal Pump

Diaphragm Pumps

Single Stage

Multi Stage

By Pump Type:

Booster Pump

Delivery/Demand Pumps

By Flow Rate:

0.1 to 0.5 GPM

0.5 to 1 GPM

1.1 to 5 GPM

5 to 20 GPM

20 to 100 GPM

100 to 500 GPM

500 to 1000 GPM

By Application Type:

Domestic & Commercial

Industrial RO Filtration Unit

Seawater Desalination Unit

Filtration Units

CounterTop Filter Cum Demineralizer

Manufacturing

Oil and Gas

Power Generation

By Sales Channel:

Online

Offline

By Region:

North America

Latin America

Europe

East Asia

South Asia & Pacific

Middle East and Africa (MEA)

[webbrealestateteamga]

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[anlian-aishang]

Kinktober Day 17: Solo Session

"Kinktober request? Voyeurism & masturbating? Reader catching Levi masturbating in the shower or something, and just captivated by his soft moans and the sound of his hand working wonders. Just stands listens/watches while he cums?"

word count: 1400

tags: nsfw, levi x reader, modern AU

Remember! Levi hates art theft.

Few were your opportunities to surprise him. Always in-tune to your being. Fully literate in your body language. Years together, you could count on one hand the times you had truly caught him off guard. It was why you immediately knew to make the most of your current situation.

Levi would have been able to see it coming - that giddiness in your arms as you pulled out your phone, that mischievous grin as you stared at the glass reflection - but that was the thing: a hundred miles away, he had no clue. No insight to the eager fingers that typed it, but only the text itself.

> Hey, honey. How are you?

Sleek black smartphone vibrated against granite countertop, the one on which he was chopping vegetables and kneading bread, preparing a dinner worthy of coming home to. Rolled-up sleeve freed his forearm up to his elbow which he used to lever the sink handle, thus rinsing his hands clean before grabbing his cell.

No one else he would rather hear from. His first instinct was to smile, but his second one came swiftly - holding that smirk back with a bite of his cheek. You were supposed to be on your way home by now - that, and the mild tone you took warned him: don’t get too excited too fast.

> Alright, what’s the matter?

Damn, he’s good.

Bags in the trunk. Seatbelt fastened. In the middle of queuing your tunes, you tabbed out to respond. Nearly an evil laugh as you lied with good intentions.

> Negotiations still haven’t concluded. I’m stuck here for a few more days, hopefully not more than a week, but we’ll see.

Despite your distance, you could sense both the belief and disappointment received on the other end: rubbing his forehead, a couple deep breaths, the considerable pause before those three bouncing dots.

> Idiots, huh?

The snide insult a distraction from his letdown, for a second, both of you were hiding truths from the other. A half-smile as you wrapped things up. After all, the longer you set up this surprise, the longer you delayed it.

> I’m sorry, babe. I’ll let you know when I’m coming home.

As you weaned him off, he found his hands moving especially fast to keep you for as long as he could. So suddenly cut off, so unexpectedly postponed - this yearning for you was unprecedented, constituting the rare triple text.

> I’ll call you tonight. > Be safe. > I love you.

Your hand instinctively flinched for the phone, reciprocating that I love you as you always would, but if your GPS read accurately, you would be able to do it in person in just under an hour.

A flood of determination to repay those debts: the pancakes ready the second you woke up, those dozens of roses for no occasion, the home-cooked meal on the bad days he somehow sensed. Though he swore they were nothing really, to you, those little things that made up who he was - your everything. You owe him. Gas pedal floored. The hour-long drive, you made it in 45.

You could only imagine the reaction that awaited you. Passing familiar sights, your mind wandered all the more. If you woke him up from his nap, he would undoubtedly drag you down to that sofa with him and atop him. If you interrupted his dinner, he would surely sweep it aside and devour you instead.

Now just where have you been?

You think you’re so clever, don’t you?

Just couldn’t help yourself - had to come early, huh?

Welcome home, brat.

Sprightly yet sneaky as you anxiously rammed your key in the lock. Not wanting to make too much noise, yet unable to help yourself.

Just a few square feet away, he held that same feeling.

// // //

Door whipped open, your cheeks gradually tapered from their sky high. Total silence, so much so that you wondered if he had left the house. The closet at your side, though, held his jacket and shoes. The kitchen just in front of you displayed an onion half diced, a mound of raw dough, a faucet with an uncharacteristic leak - as though shut off haphazardly.

You expected to find him in the living room, napping on the couch, but he was not there. You tiptoed into your bedroom in pursuit of your second guess, reading a book on the bed, but found it empty and neatly made. What you did locate, though, was the last thing you would expect: the bathroom door opened just a tad, outlining its frame in a glow - a spotlight of sorts that begged for your attention and shed light on the situation.

Brows knit, eyes squinted, evidence began to piece things together. Levi never left the kitchen a mess, he never kept his doors ajar, and he never showers at night.

“Goddamn…”

From the other side of the door, he read and spoke your mind exactly. For even unconsciously, he was once again the one to surprise you.

// // //

And even with your supposed absence and separation, it was you who brought him to his knees.

Or so he imagined.

Silky hands, slow and loving, were the ones he fantasized. Calloused palm and rigid fingers, though, were the ones that held himself now. Angelic gasps and high-pitched screams would harmonize with his low groans and heavy pants. Tonight, though, a solo performance.

How opposite you were to him, his perfect complement, it became more and more pronounced with each repetition. That self-told lie less and less believable by the second.

Levi's current state void of his usual composure: vulnerable, helpless, succumbing. Without you here to tether his reins, the clean freak’s mind turned filthier by the day. Without you here to spend the night with him, there was only way he knew to keep from cumming in his sleep - not that this was much more dignified.

Brows furrowed, a frustrated grunt. Eyelashes fluttered, water dripped from them. Bangs slicked to his forehead intercepted his gaze. Wet tresses on his nape sent shivers down his spine. Scars at his shoulders, dug before you left, stung in the soapy water, drawing hisses through barred teeth.

“Shit,” Levi cursed, “oh, fuck…” brisk tone thawing as he sang your name.

Next was the curl of his toes - a squeak and a slosh audible against acrylic floor. Buckling at his knees, threatening to dismantle him even further. A warmth throughout both legs, both comforting yet incinerating. Rapid heartbeat. Lungs short on oxygen. Gasps grew shorter and sharper. Accompanying the heave in his chest was the familiar rhythm of flexes in his abdomen. His climax was turning inevitable - obvious to both you and himself - breaths made frantic and frustrated. No. Not yet. Not like this.

An endless wager this had been. A true battle of self in and of all senses. Hands ached to reach down there. Muscles twitched at every touch. With the increased presence of thoughts of you, the headspace for reasoning was pushed to the brim. Could he make it one more week? One more day? Tonight? This hour? This very pull?

“F’Fuck…!” Levi growled, “Oh, fuck me!!”

So ironic it was: how this was his last resort, how his patience had run out, how he was no longer able to wait - but was now trying to stave himself off. Deliberately delaying the release that had been deterred already, a deterrence he damned, it was just another way that you so delightfully fucked with him - no matter the distance.

He could practically hear you snickering, whispering in his ear, “Hah. Pathetic.” Little did he know, his imagination did not have to reach far for that one.

If only you were here right now.

// // //

Behind that door and behind that curtain, Levi began his slow comedown and comeback to reality. A shower that had served his purpose, but not its purpose. In case he needed a reminder of just how long you had been gone, the mess he painted himself with now gave a mocking reminder as to just how pent up he had been.

In the end, thankful for that opaque wooden door that separated you - for you were sure there was nothing else on earth that could have hidden the gleam on your face now. Not as certain, though, was what to do now?

There were two options as far as you could tell.

One, let him be. He had provided you a show and you were sure dinner to follow. Things would have gone as they always had: Levi would gift you again, you would feel indebted again.

But there was also option two. You could make your arrival known sooner rather than later. Slam that door flush against the wall, a stunning entrance, and take his breath away. Oh, what a mess you’ve made. You filthy thing… let’s get you cleaned up.

Maybe you would surprise him after all.

// Kinktober Year 2 Masterlist //

[kingdaddydaichi]

Confession Time 💥 Katsuki Bakugou 💥 NSFW

Word Count: 900

What begins as harmless banter ends in more than a mouthful...

You leaned against the granite countertop, watching your boyfriend cook breakfast for the two of you. “So, Katsuki?”

He looked up at you from his place in front of the stove. “Mm?”

“How long have you…had a thing for me?”

“What?" He shot you a look. "Why’re you asking me that? The fuck does it matter?”

“I'm just curious...", you said sweetly.

“Tch. Since a couple weeks after we met…”

You swooned. “Really?? That long???”

“Yeah, and don’t go making a big deal about it, nerdy girl!" He turned his attention back to the stove long enough to turn off the gas. "Anyway, what about you? How long?”

“You don’t know?”

“How should I? You never acted like it! Honestly...", he lowered his volume considerably, "...I was surprised that you r-...responded to me the way you did on the dance floor that night. I figured it must’ve been the alcohol". By now he was grumbling, "...but then you actually showed up after you said yes when I asked you out on a date”.

"What? Did you think I'd stand you up?", you mused.

He stood tall and puffed his chest out. “No! Who in their right mind would do that to #2 Pro Hero Katsuki Bakugou, hah?!”

Giggling, you answered, “Okay, you’ve got a point there. You are pretty hot after all”. He tried and failed to hide his smile when you winked at him from across the room.

He closed the gap between your bodies until he towered over you, hooking a gentle finger under your chin. He almost kissed you, but stopped right in front of your lips and breathed, “You didn’t answer my question…how long?”

You hummed and looked up at him. “Since the day we met”.

He pulled back, pointing at you. “Hah! You liked ME first!”

“Well, not exactly…”, you admitted.

His smug expression quickly deflated. “Hah?!”

“I was physically attracted to you right away, that much is true". You bit your lip before expanding disquietly. "But I didn’t actually like you at first".

“Whaa-? W-Why not??”

You motioned in his general direction. “Because you’re…you!”

“Oh, so you don't like me then?”, he leaned back with his fingertips against his chest.

You flipped your hair. “Nope, pretty much just used you for free food and sex”.

“Ohhh you are in sooooo much trouble, shitty girl!”

Your giggle turned to full blown laughter as he stalked towards you. You squealed and bolted from the kitchen with the blond bombshell hot on your tail. You'd almost made it through the living room when he suddenly appeared in front of you, forcing you to back up against the wall.

"Your ass is mine", he sneered.

“No! Katsuki, no!”, you wailed as he cornered you.

“You’re gonna pay for that!” You both went down as he tickled you.

“Damnit, okay! How much do you normally charge?”, you said through tears of laughter.

He scoffed at you, pinning you down. “Oh, you’re think you’re cute huh?” He got up, allowing you to get to your knees but putting a strategic hand on your shoulder to keep you from standing back up. He reached down and palmed himself. “Hmm…what should I charge you?”, he asked thoughtfully.

Your eyes drifted down to the bulge growing under his touch. He reached inside his sweats and gave himself a couple of long strokes before pulling himself out over the waistband.

Bouncing in its freedom, his heavy dick was mere inches from your face. In the bright morning sunlight that poured through the windows, you could fully appreciate what he was packing…and he wasn’t even fully hard yet. “Oh shit…”, you muttered as your fingers mindlessly traced the vein that runs the length of his cock.

He glared down at you. “Suck it”.

“Christ, Katsuki, it's so thick…I don’t know if I can –“

“I said suck it", he demanded. “Be a good girl for me and take this fat dick in your mouth”.

Your pussy clenched at his words, steadily getting wetter by the second. Without missing another beat, you swirled your tongue around the head, but he quickly wrapped his hand in your hair, pulling you off his cock to look at him.

"Ah-ah-ahh", he reprimanded, shaking his head and waving a finger at you. "What do we say before we eat?"

"Itadakimasu", you groaned, staring at his delicious cock.

"That's right, now show me how grateful you are", he said, letting go of your hair.

You lubricated him as best as you could with your saliva before finally closing your lips around him. He smoothed your hair away from your angel face, watching the head of his cock slide in and out of your pretty mouth.

“Look at me when you suck my dick”, he growled.

You looked up at him, trying to take more of him, your eyes watering until tears trailed down from their corners.

“Ahhh- fuck baby, feels so good". He tilted his head. "Can you take more of me?”

You moaned unintelligibly and tried to work him a little deeper. You gagged, salivating excessively. As your drool dripped from the underside of his cock, you took him as best as you could, occasionally choking on him.

“Mmm…I know it’s not easy to swallow my dick, but you’re doing great, princess”.

As you whined with every plunge of his member, he felt his release building.

“Ah baby, yeah. Just like that. Mmm you’re gonna make me cum so fuckin' hard”, he hissed as you worked harder to help him along.

“Mmnnhh…babe, I’m gonna-”. He tried to warn you, but, “You might wanna- haahhh---“, was all he could manage when he began to unload in your mouth.

Normally one to swallow, there was literally no room to hold his seed. What you couldn’t choke down seeped out from the corners of your mouth, dripping from your chin and onto the floor.

He nearly whimpered at the sight as he came, bringing his fist to his mouth and biting down. “Nngahhh fuck…what the fuck did you just do to me?”

[gaiuswrites]

Ashore

Part one | Open Waters

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader

Summary: You and Frankie leave the beach with only one thing on your minds.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 3.6k~

Warnings/tags: smut, ✨butt stuff✨, oral (f receiving), some lovey-dovey shit

Notes: Here we are friends. You don’t necessarily have to read Open Waters to understand the contents of this chapter (considering it’s mostly just booty bumpin’). You can thank heathens @javierpcna and @whataperfectwasteoftime for the debauchery to follow. It’s been a while since I’ve written and I’m genuinely nervous to post this lol but alas. We have arrived. Is it shit? Is it pure filth? Who’s to say hehehe. Cheers bebes x

Masterlist | read it on ao3!

The worst part was, you had to get gas.

Frankie drives. You sit beside him.

The return trip is hushed with anticipation—with sullied stain-glass imagery occupying the void. You've said next to nothing since you packed into the car; the only noise comes from the radio—the preset station phasing in and out as you wind along the backroads leading away from the shore—Journey, Jimi, Led Zep and the like all crackling dry through the speakers.

Everything, each micro-movement, feels stifling— like burning ants under a magnifying glass— each gesture riddled with intention, Frankie’s words echoing clear in the caverns of your mind.

He glances left right at an intersection.

‘Anything?’

He flips on the turn signal, blinking one two one two one two.

‘You gonna let me have your tight little ass?’

He steers the wheel with the heel of his palm.

‘When I cum, it’s gonna be here—filling you up.’

The engine rumbles as you idle at a red light—stalling. Dawdling. The sun spills lazily from the horizon, draining the last of the afternoon’s light with it, bleeding the sky scarlet—emboldening the horizon— and you watch as the setting glow catches the hair on his arm—there, resting on the console between you. His hand fists over the gear, knuckles creasing as they tense around the worn, leathered head. You’re playing a game—a silent, ruleless game. You know he can sense you observing him, can feel the heat of your gaze weigh on the flex of his fingers—the same fingers that had ripped an orgasm out of you not two hours before.

You almost unbuckle your damn seatbelt and fly out of your chair. You nearly break with it, with the unspoken tension filling the car like gas and fuck, how you crave him; how you yearn to put those fingers in your mouth and suck—lave the summer clean off his digits and bob around the long width and—

The light turns green.

Frankie resumes his hand to the wheel, your lewd fantasy dissipating along with it.

It’s minuscule. You would have missed it save the fact that you’re so acutely aware of every fucking breath you two share in the aluminum confines of your old Jeep. It’s a subtle thing: Frankie adjusts his hips— innocent enough— but your eyes flicker over to find the groin of his drying swim trunks tented.

You’re not ashamed to say it— your mouth fucking waters, you salivate— and as if on cue, he squirms again, seeking relief from both the blood rushing south and the blister of your stare. His lips part— the rasp of an inhale as he prepares to speak—before his focus is torn down to the dashboard, an orange symbol popping up in the gauge stealing his attention.

“Shit,” Frankie mumbles under his breath. Looking around, he scans for a nearby station and groans at the realization that he’s just passed one, spotting it in the rearview mirror. “Shit.”

You swivel towards the passenger side window, attempting to hide the I told you so expression pulling wry at your mouth. Not that you’ll hang it over him, but you did inform Frankie that the tank was empty on the way to the beach. You hear another muffled curse come from the man beside you, and the world goes topsy-turvy and reverses itself— the act of Frankie making a grumbled U-turn.

He puts the gear into park with a huff, Van Halen’s solo abruptly cut short mid chord.

The car door opens with a rusty squeal and Frankie clambers out, fishing his wallet from his back pocket and swiping his card through the reader at the pump—but not before he squeezes a palm into the plush of your thigh, thumb searing like a brand into your skin. I’ll be quick.

Fuck, you could have cum right then.

Your gaze follows his movements, dogging after him as he waits on the gas to fill— arms folded across his chest, strong build leaning on the frame of your car.

It’s not a novel concept to you, but God is that man broad. The ratty t-shirt he wears clings to him, pulled taut between the plane of his shoulders, the cut of his tricep apparent even from your vantage point; the corded muscle running up his neck flashing as he watches the digital numbers on the screen tick higher.

Shit, you’re aching for him— you can feel yourself throb into the crotch of your swimsuit. You’d have him right here—in the backseat, steaming up the glass— if it weren’t for the overencumbered bags and rickety beach chairs crowding the space.

With herculean effort, you wrench your eyes off him in search of a distraction, letting them drift to the dark flooring of the car. It’s been dirtied—white flecks speckling the interior—and you won’t be able to get the sand out of the matted carpets for weeks. It’s a nuisance, to be sure, but you have to admit that you’re sort of fond of it; little memories, vestiges in the grains, lingering long after the season ends.

Hello, remember me? each granule chirped, remember when we laughed giddy for hours, maddened by the grace of the sun? Remember when we burned red that time we forgot sunscreen? Remember when we bought soft serve from the surf shack and it globbed sticky down our wrists? Remember when we when we when when when…

Frankie, ever practical, hates it. It’s a pain in the ass, he’s told you, regaling you with the woes only a mechanic would care to know. It ruins the upholstery.

You’ve had your exchanges about the topic—your faux-squabbled back and forths—and yet despite himself, he can’t help but like that you like it. Conceptually, he gets it—it annoys him to kingdom fucking come and he’ll almost certainly take the vacuum to the mats first thing tomorrow, but he understands. He understands it.

He understands you.

You’re like that, you and him. You’re different. You are made of different things, a compository of fractures and fragments. Mosaic tiles. You don’t quite fit—not all of you—but you never force the pieces into any sort of place. You admire each other’s mismatched bits, those sweetly quilted jigsaws, and you hold each one up to the light and point at the unique curves, the notches and swoops there, and say I love you, I love this, I love this too.

When Frankie keys up the ignition and puts the car in drive, he keeps his hand on your lap. Arm resting over the median dividing you, calloused palm sealing over your quad, his fingertips knead a pulse into the meat of your leg with each bump in the poorly paved road— a reminder. A vow. Almost home.

You think he does it just to torture you.

It fucking works.

/

The sound of laughter parts the front door as you enter— Frankie had made some colorful comment about your absolute favorite neighbors, the ones who always leave their damn garbage bins in front of your driveway— and your key ring clatters as it hits the bowl on the side table.

You discard the bags, plopping the sandy things down in the entryway, and kick off your sandals— bare soles padding along lacquered wood paneling as you head to the kitchen for some much needed water.

The sound of the tap running camouflages Frankie’s movement, you don’t hear him behind you. He’s got stealth in him, harbored there from before. He’s light on his feet when he chooses to be—nimble-like, bordering on feline—and you startle with a bubbly chuckle when you spin around to discover him far closer than you anticipated.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping us hydrated,” you grin, as if it were obvious. You’re welcome.

He hums, the note rumbling against the cage of his ribs, and lessens the distance between you with a single stride. “That can wait.”

He rids you of the glasses, hurriedly placing them on the counter, and meets you in a kiss—and fuck can that man kiss. Frankie, like with all things, is responsive—attentive. His lips are fever-laced and wanton, and he roves against yours like they’re designed to— fated for no one else’s but your own— nipping and tonguing at your honeyed whines, orphaned there in the well of your mouth.

His hands vine up your body, so deprived of the luxury of your form - of touch - and he grabs at anything he can— your hips, your waist, your breasts through the cotton of your shirt— their half moon curves sitting ripe in his palms.

After ushering you up to the countertop, he strips you of your jean shorts, your bikini bottom sloughing down your calves along with them, and hoists your feet onto the fake granite, prying your legs wide for him.

When he gets an eyeful of your gleaming pussy, pearled with arousal, the wind gets punched straight out of him.

“Jesus honey,” he groans, “you been like this the whole ride home?”

Your brain is numb, lagging with lust. You don’t trust your voice to speak—all you can do is nod.

“Poor thing,” he simpers. “Poor pretty thing, all wound up for me—all wet.”

You whimper at his tone—graveled, just shy of condescending—and your knees weaken shut before he snatches them apart.

“Sit still.”

It’s a command, there’s no room for disobedience; he orders it with a soldier's voice—that dead thing he wears like dog tags around his neck. Vice grip widening your legs, Frankie sinks down onto his shins, head leveled with your core, engrossed with the sight of your damp sex quivering.

Blotchy warmth creeps up your neck, like ivy crawling over brick.

He’s staring at you— hungry and possessed and simply staring at your open cunt and you begin to fidget once more—riling under his umbered appraisal.

“Sit still baby girl,” he murmurs, softer now and desperate too—intoxicated with the heady perfume of your heat. “Lemme just— fuck, I gotta taste you…”

When he swipes the deft muscle of his tongue through your slit, your head careens back onto the cabinets, plates and bowls rattling behind the wood.

Oh god, Frankie.

He’s got a talent for this— an excruciating, body wracking talent. He thirsts for you something dangerous, something unquenchable; he tugs at your labia, forming his lips around your clit, lapping at your essence— the ocean musk, that sea foam wet.

You fumble through his hair, mussing the saline woven strands with urgent fingers as you grind grind grind, rolling your hips to meet him in a covetous show of want and he purrs into your pussy as you fuck his face, the scratch of his stubble chafing at your legs.

It doesn’t take long, not with the fervor of how he’s claiming your cunt with his mouth. You soak Frankie’s chin— you nearly fucking drown him with it—and he’s glistening with you when he finally emerges for air, pulling you to him to slant his lips against yours, letting you savor your own taste on his hot tongue.

“Bedroom. Now,” he husks, breath hitching as his nose grazes along your ear, and with two hands under your armpits, he gathers you off the countertop. Frankie lands a swat at the plump of your backside, sending you scurrying through the living room with a shriek—completely bypassing the abandoned pile of laundry left lying on the couch.

He smirks—delirious and ramrod stiff—sauntering behind you, enamored with the pendulum sway of your hips as you lead him to the bed.

/

You’ve never been here. You’ve never gone this far. You both have tiptoed this narrow line for months; he’s fingered your ass plenty—you have even gone so far as to don a butt plug. You’ve discussed anal—toyed with the idea, flirted in circles around it like tittering birds.

But you’ve never taken Frankie’s cock. Not yet.

He’s been working you loose and limber for the better part of fifteen minutes, delving himself knuckle deep into your slicked hole until you’re sputtering for more— until you’re downright sopping and fucking shaking— and not with trepidation but with desire. Frankie’s made you gluttonous. Frankie’s made you voracious.

You’re starving for him.

“You gonna let me have this now?” He presses a digit over your ass, kissing his thumb into the knot there.

You tremble, nodding frantic.

“Think this pretty little ass can take me, baby?”

He serves you a slap, plush skin jiggling and pricking pink under his palm. You keen into him, in search of the promise he’s been baiting you with and you arch your hips, gyrating back onto fucking nothing.

“Yes. Yes—” You twist, chin corkscrewed around to see him. You want to watch. You want to watch as he disappears inside you— as you swallow him.

“A-Are you sure?” he asks, suddenly gone gentle around the lines fraying from his eyes—those wrinkles he’s hard-earned and won, like badges, like medals—from all his years spent under an unforgiving sun, all of that which he has seen and endured. Survived. Your Frankie, always thoughtful, always checking. A goddamn gentleman, even now—even as his dick brays hard and angry against the soft of his tawny stomach. “Because really, we don’t have to—”

You cut him off with a whimper, splaying your pelvis up to him—spreading yourself, letting him see the filth dripping from your seam, dappling your inner thighs. “Fuck me,” you whine, both holes puckering for him. “Fill me up, like you said you would— please.”

Something shifts across his features like a shadow and his expression morphs until it steels— his pupils dilating to a predatorial onyx— and he spits into his palm, coating his shaft, jerking himself with it.

He hisses as he guides himself into you, as you accommodate around him, as you envelop him entirely— inch by veritable inch. He has to station a hand to the base of your lumbar, struggling to maintain his composure—air rattling in and out his lungs as he attempts to breathe.

“Shit,” he gasps, “t-this okay?”

You fist the comforter, coiling the fabric into a ball. It’s a stretch— it’s a real goddamn stretch— and briefly you consider that he might, in fact, snap you in two...

Francisco Morales is going to split you clean in half—and God, if you don’t you love it.

“Yes - yes baby - keep going. D-Don’t stop.”

He pitches into you, setting a legato tempo— transfixed by the lurid juncture where you converge into one. “You- you’re so tight. Shit, you’re—”

He silences himself with a delicious moan, biting at his lower lip until the vessels there burst and it purples, and deals a particularly aggressive thrust— one you respond to with an ugly wail of your own, eyes somersaulting in their sockets.

You’re both impatient, verging on rabid, and it doesn’t take long for him to set a rougher pace and fuck you faster - harder - hammering into your ass until you see stars, popping and fizzing in front of your retinas, a symphony of guttural grunts and carnal praise fogging up the bedroom.

Your pussy feels so empty you could cry—weeping and gaping and fluttering for him as he takes your tight ring of muscle, fucking himself to the hilt. It’s like he’s behind your brain—like he’s carved his way up your spine and nudging at the nape of your neck with how deep he’s driving into you—restless. Ceaseless. His balls slap slap slap against your puffy cunt and you pant— girlish and buoyant with the dulled smacks to your sore clit.

“Please,” you sob, “Please, I need—”

You can barely push the words out—your mind is of no help and your tongue lolls useless, languid in your mouth. Your motor functions have all but puttered to a halt, every scrap of you fighting to stay above the sensation that’s threatening to drag you under its current. The rip tide of it all, of Frankie’s cock, coursing through your ass, tempting to hurdle you out into the dark, wet blue.

“Tell me,” Frankie rasps, scraping through his throat. “Tell me, pretty baby.”

Your response is pathetic—you can hardly dignify it as a response at all. Your temple is pressed into the mattress, hair knotted with brine and sand, and all you can do is coo.

Frankie folds over you, angling himself to graze his teeth over your shoulder—savoring the salt and sex tang bathing your skin, all those pheromones and velveteen chemicals anointing you—baptizing you anew for him. He’s gruff when he murmurs, his beard grating your freshly tanned skin.

“C’mon sweetheart - hng, fuck - what do you need?”

“My clit,” you rush out, needy. “My clit. Please, oh my god Frankie I-I need you to, I need – oh fuck—” And your pleas are mummed by a rapturous moan as he trails his hand from the hollow of your hip to the apex of your cleft and flicks.

Fuck. Fuck, oh Christ—

There’s a ringing in your ears, buzzing you deaf, making you dumb—or maybe it’s just your heart, beating loud and errant against your skull—you can’t say. You don’t feel human. Frankie’s pounding into that cinched channel and playing with your clit—swiveling eddies into your swollen nub—and you feel like an animal. You feel debased. You feel disgusting and perfect and you’re fucking drooling; cheek squished and mouth agape, saliva pools from your wagging maw, darkening the white linen you’re being driven into.

“You need me in your pussy, too?”

He doesn’t wait for you to answer him— he already knows what you need, how you need to have every part of you gorged on him— and Frankie dips his fingertips into your entrance, hooking them up and up and in, fucking in time to the cant of his hips.

He’s in you. Everywhere, everywhere—every possible neuron and synapse consumed with him.

“You need me like this—fucking you this deep? Fucking both your pretty holes?” he growls, weaving his hand lower to grab a fistful of your hair, rucking your head up. Throat stretched bare for him, your mewls muddle to cock-drunk cries as he spears you on himself again and again and again.

Yes yes yes fuck harder please please Frankie

You're pleading with him—you’ve been reduced to meager begging— and a chorus of slurs sings your release as you contract around him and cum, the cradle of your hips bucking reflexively.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he seethes, “you’re so good for me baby, Jesus fuck—”

He’s close now—his blissed finish drawing nearer and nearer with each sharp snap of his hips. Frankly, he’s shocked he’s managed to last as long as he has; it’s a small miracle he hadn’t cum the instant he slotted himself inside you with that very first stroke.

“Baby,” he warns, losing his rhythm. You saddle your spine, hollowing out the valley of your back and arch pretty and supple for him— preening under his weight. He moans at that, and through your fucked out haze you have the wherewithal to smirk at him, devious and prideful, a wild look owning your eye.

Frankie has to brace himself on your hips, untangling from your locks to bruise into the pillow of your skin— gripping on for dear fucking life as he plows you. You’re strangling him. You’re strangling the thick of his cock until he’s dizzy with it—until he’s feral and blind and he can’t hold on, can’t keep fighting this fucking monsoon that’s raging in his core.

“Baby, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna—fuck me, oh shit—” He shouts, spurting inside you thrust for thrust, painting your virgin walls with his seed. It’s too much— after all that, and you’re still too tight— and he’s overstimulated to the point of delirium. Frankie roots himself still, cum dribbling out your stuffed hole while he rides out the high of his orgasm—his vision, his senses, his goddamn soul, slowly oozing back into him. When he slides free from you, he does so with a pained heave, leaving you yawning with his absence.

You feel shredded. Vacant. You’ve been sent to another fucking dimension all together.

Without wasting another second, Frankie claws you up. You’re easy and malleable, bones and muscles too strung out to protest, and he whirls you around to bar you to his chest—crushing your sweaty body to his with bullet marred arms— the same arms that have taken lives, that have spared them, too. The same arms that link around you, delicate and daisy-chained, like you’re the most precious thing he has.

And you are.

You are.

Frankie kisses you breathless, drinking rich from your cup— tongue greedy and reverent as he kneels there at your altar, praying his sins into your mouth.

So gorgeous, he croons, peppering your face—your flushed cheeks, your perspired brow—with his lips as he tells you over and over and over again.

So good for me, pretty baby

Was that okay?

Fuck, you’re a dream

You’re my best girl—you’re my only girl

Was that okay?

God, you’re my whole fucking world

Was that okay? Was I okay?

Are you okay?

You swoon, helpless to the contented sigh that seeps out from you like mist. You’ve gone limp against the breadth of him. He has reduced you to rubber, left wobbling in his grasp, and you’re so damn full—your heart and your body—all of it. You feel unequivocally complete. You feel safe, you feel home.

You are home. Francisco is home.

He’s flattening out the nest of your hair, taming the damage he previously delivered to it, earning from you a sleepy grin into the muggy crook of his neck. And with the last of your waning strength you hold his pieces up to the light—the light you left on in the hall as the night grew dark around you, the one who’s yellow glow your naked bodies bask in now, and you say

I love you

I love this

I love this too

tags:

@krissology @heartsofbeskar @madhattervanessa @andiesturgss @sharkbait77 @tenderwhat @javier-pena @pedros-mustache @frannyzooey @chasingdreamer @djarinsbeskar @thosewickedlovelies @juletheghoul @not-the-droids @filthybookworm @pilothusband @letterfromvienna @keeper0fthestars @greatcircle79 @day-off-inkyoto @mermaidxatxheart @lawfulgranola @heatherbel @quica-quica-quica @stuckonthefiction @janesbrontes

[sashi-ya]

hiiii <3 i adore literally everything you write🥰💕 but i’ve literally been obsessed with the eustass x reader smut i requested “yes master”!! it’s one of my fave ever eustass smuts💗💗💘

i was wondering if you could could do a part two for it! with similar prompts to last time, you can expand on this if you want!!💗💗

thank you!!! keep up the amazing work <3

Hi!! I'm so glad you like it omg 🙈!! I hope you like this as much as the first one! Thank u so much for your sweet words darling! 💗 ~

NSFW ~ PART 2 ~ Eustass Captain Kid x F! Reader ~ Yes, Master.

TW: Master/Slave dynamic, usage of toys, Impact play, Rough sex, kind of public sex, vaginal sex, face fuck, cum marking, choking, hair pulling. Kind of fluffy ending? haha

A/N: This is the second part for the fic "Yes, Master" of the Spicy Week Event.

WC: 1.7K

Since the first time Kidd and you had a session, he hasn’t had a new sub. And that felt amazing. You have travelled around the country with the band, and there hasn’t been a single night you two didn’t fuck like crazy. You usually session on the back of the bar where they had their concerts, or even on the bus when the rest of the members weren’t there.

Yet you are all on a long, long trip across the country this time, it would take at least three days to take to the other part and even if Kidd doesn’t really care about privacy, with you, is different. The singer of Punk Rotten might be reckless and all of that, but he wouldn’t like the others to hear or even see you enjoying the pleasures of lust…

Heat, the driver of the so called “Victoria Punk” trailer announces that you need gas so he enters into an isolated gas station in the middle of the night. There are no more than two gas pumps, a little store -that looks pretty abandoned- and a few yellow lights buzzing and surrounded by bugs flying around.

“Ah God, I needed to stretch my legs!” says your Master while descending the little bus. You are always next to him, almost like a little puppy following him -and that was actually your job there, but you loved it-.

“Oi, wanna go see inside the store?” Kidd tells you. You nod and follow him who has snatched your arm and is pulling you towards the little shop.

“Good evening!” an old man salutes you. You bow your head a little while Kidd's strong voice salutes him back. Everything over there is covered by a fine cape of dust, meaning the food is probably expired or at least on the verge of it.

“Oi, old-man, do you have something to drink?” asks Kidd. “Of course, sir” says the old man and points towards an old refrigerator. Some cans of beer you haven’t seen before on display, and a can of coke is what is left. Yet it seems enough for your master, so he grabs the cans and takes them to the counter. “You like coke, right?” Kidd tells you, worried for you. He genuinely cares about you even though he might look tough.

“Yes, Master. I like it” you answer obediently while squeezing the little bag you have crossed over your body. “Son, you better treat that sweet angel right there better” says the shop owner to him. Kidd looks at him with fire in his eyes, he actually really cares about you but he is not showing that to some random stranger. “Shut the hell up, old man. Keep the change and tell me please where the hell is the bathroom” he says. The man takes the money, smiles at you subtly and tells you the bathroom is at the back of the store.

Kidd opens the can for you and hands it to you, he then opens a beer and starts drinking it savagely. “Let’s go to the bathroom” he says while dragging you. You spill some of the drink over your t-shirt and follow him stumbling.

You both enter the men bathroom. It looks old, but clean. No one has been there in some time so you don’t have to worry about some unpleasant smells whatsoever. “I know it is the men's bathroom, but I’m not risking you being all alone on the other side in the middle of the night” says Kidd to you, and you are certainly pleased. There is no more than loneliness and darkness behind the place. The countryside could be scary during the night.

“You can go to the stall if you need to use the bathroom” says Kidd pointing at a green wooden box. “Yes, Master. Thank you” you say and enter the stall. After the both of you have released their bladders, you hear the water run and finally get out. “I’m ready, Master” you tell him with a subtle smile.

Kidd looks at you, and a side grin forms on his face. You know that face, and that means sex, rough sex, right now. “Well, I’m not ready, little Slave” he says, approaching you and lifting your chin up. You giggle nervously. As much as you like being fucked by him, it’s always a little intimidating…

“Do you, have it?” he asks you. “Yes, Master. I do…” you tell him and search on your little bag. You take out a bright pink little vibrator that Kidd has requested you to take in your purse every time and show it to him. “Good girl” he says and first caresses your cheek and then slaps it softly, twice. You moan at the gentle impact and wait for your Master’s orders.

“Shorts out” he commands. You do as he tells and stand there in an almost abandoned bathroom in the middle of nowhere. “Stick that vibrator in for master”.

You gently stick the fuschia toy into your entrance and let the little rubbery tail hang outside. Kidd walks up to you and takes your oversized shirt off. “Ugh those pretty tits” he grunts and squeezes one at a time.

The quivering of the toy starts making you squirm a little. “What’s wrong little slave? you can’t stand still, huh?” he says and takes his hand over your throat. “Did I tell you to move?” ... “N-no master, I’m sorry” you excuse yourself perfectly knowing that he takes no explanation.

“On your knees” he orders you, letting your already finger marked throat off. Your knees quickly hit the cold tales of the bathroom and your hands over your thighs, expectant. Kidd lowers down his zipper and his yellow pants fall into the ground. His big member out, menacing but tempting. You stick your tongue out, because he tells you so -even though there is absolutely no need of him ordering that, you love the taste of his dick so much you want to devour it every time-

The vibrator keeps working inside you, stimulating your G point, while Kid fucks your throat, mercilessly. Your hair tangled on his fingers for a better grip, while the deadly motion of his hips makes you gag. Tears running from the corner of your eyes, you gasping for air, and your core dripping wet.

The tip of his dick stretches your cheek while he pushes it from inside, the bulge forming on your face, and his big hand slapping over it several times. You moan, you whine. Kidd notices the ground under you getting wet by the arousal liquids of your incoming orgasm and tells you “Oh no no, are you already cumming? Did I give you permission to do so?”. “I’m… I’m sorry master I-I…” you mumble with his dick still inside your mouth. “Nah, no excuses Slave… You have to be punished, you know?” he says and you close your eyes anticipating what’s next. Kidd reaches your pussy and pulls from the rubbery string that hangs from the vibrator. The feeling of the little egg getting out and stretching your walls as it slides off makes you whine, loudly.

When the vibrator is out, and your orgasm has been denied, Kidd shouts “Look at me!”. You open your eyes and fix them on his. “Open your mouth” he commands and starts jerking off violently.

Grunts and manly moans escape his mouth while he reaches climax, bathing your face with his cum. You accept it gladly, a sticky warm love seed that covers not only your tongue, but also your profile and drips into your chest from your mandible.

“There you go, little slave. You look so good covered with my cum it’s almost not a punishment” he says while slowly stops the pumping motion on his dick. “Thank you, master” you tell him, smiling, tasting the sperm on your lips. “That smile, you little pervert bitch. I’m so glad you are my slave…” he says and lifts you up from your arm.

Kidd takes you to one of the three sinks and opens the tab. Cold water splashes on your face as he cleans it from his cum. “As much as I love your face covered in my jizz, it’s time to clean that up” he says. Then, your chest. The freezing cold water in contrast with the warm night makes you shiver a little, especially when it touches your nipples.

“Mhh, master…” you whine. “You like that, huh? you little bitch” he says and twists one of your already hard nipples. Once again, your moaning turns him on, and his dick is ready for another round.

“Come here, little bitch” Kidd says, and pushes you over the countertop. Your cheek pressed against the cold wet granite and your entrance perfectly aligned to be penetrated with no mercy. And that’s exactly what your master does. He doesn’t wait, your cunt dripping wet expecting to be filled by his dick drives him crazy.

Violent thrusts in and out of you, so deep inside you can feel your guts being pressed up. Spanks hit your ass repeatedly, leaving red marks that soon will turn into purple ones. Your legs turn weaker and weaker, and your bodyweight is only held by your belly pressing over the countertop as your climax is approaching.

Rolling back eyes, shivers running on your spine, degrading words by your master and violent thrusts pressing your g spot makes you finally reach the peak of pleasure. “M-master… can I… can I come??” you ask, begging him to let you finish. Kidd laughs maliciously and finally says “Cum for me, slave”. With a last deep thrust, you release the pressure forming over your lower stomach. Your whine probably was heard over the whole countryside, but you don’t really care, nor does Kidd. He finishes too, filling you up with his warm seed until you feel your womb almost exploding.

“Good slave, take it all inside for your Master” he says and bends over you, planting a sweet kiss on your cheek. It’s the first time he does it, and you can’t help but feel a hundred butterflies flying inside you… ♥ ~

[ri-ahhh]

breakfast appetizer

morning pancakes with boyfriend E

1.4k, short and to the point lol

warnings: just smut

***

“Are you just gonna sit there and watch me all morning?”

Ethan stands at the stove, shirtless as usual, flipping pancakes and humming along to the Mac Miller song playing through the Alexa. You think this must be the 21st century woman’s version of whatever men in the 50′s loved about coming home to see their wives dolled up in a cute apron and working away in the kitchen. He looks way too good for this early in the morning — or at least as early as 8:30 AM feels right now, anyway.

You’re sitting on the marble counter of the kitchen island cross-legged, in nothing but his hoodie, clutching your empty plate after having already polished off the two pancakes he had given you. You suck a stray bit of syrup off your thumb with an obnoxious smack, and grin. “Yep. I like watching you slave away for me.”

He eyes the finger lingering by your lips with a smirk before checking one of the pancakes. “I hardly think putting shit in a blender and pouring it onto a hot pan is ‘slaving away,’ but I’ll take it.”

“Hey, it’s more work than I was gonna do by eating blueberries straight from the carton,” you point out, dragging your finger through the pool of syrup on your plate to catch some on purpose this time.

Ethan slides the spatula under the last of the pancakes on the stove and places them on a separate plate to join the others that he’d made. The gas stove turns off with a sharp click once he turns the knob to ‘off’, and he looks at you again just as you suck your finger in your mouth rather unattractively, as far as you're concerned. His eyes darken, and you flush behind the hood you’ve got raised over your head; if you knew he was in that kind of mood already, you would have at least tried to be a little more seductive about it.

Trying or not, Ethan doesn’t seem to care one bit, because the effect had been there. He moves to stand in front of you, takes your plate out of your hands, and sets it on the counter behind you. His hands hook under your thighs, and he drags you to the edge of the counter, forcing your legs apart from their folded position so they can wrap easily around his waist. 

You giggle and hook your wrists behind his neck for balance, and he brings one hand to pull your hood down and fluff out your hair. He doesn’t think you’ve ever looked better — all fresh-faced in the morning after a good night’s sleep, in his clothes, lips sticky from the breakfast he made you.

Your fingers play with his hair, long enough to be threaded through and tugged on in that sharp, playful way he likes so much. Sure enough, he lets out a tiny little grunt, and you smile at the renewed heat in his eyes. “You look like you wanna eat me.”

Ethan smiles at that. “I do. Are breakfast appetizers a thing?”

“I don’t think so. But I’m willing to be the first.”

You drag him to you, the countertop making you even in height with him so it’s a simple reach to get his mouth on yours. You moan at that first touch of his lips, already capturing your lower lip between his and giving it a seductive little nibble before fully diving in. His tongue coaxes you lips apart, delving into your warm mouth to explore the sweetness there left by the syrup you had been enjoying just minutes ago.

His kisses never fail to make you weak, but you’re already ready for more. You push down on his broad shoulders, and he follows without hesitation after one last swipe of his tongue across your lips. He sinks to his knees, and something about him looking up at you with the marble beneath you and the other pretty aesthetics of the nice, clean kitchen — the last place you should be doing this, even if Grayson is set to be gone on his morning surf outing for at least another couple of hours — makes you twice as desperate for him.

Ethan hooks his fingers into the sides of your tiny sleep shorts, and you plant you hands on the countertop behind you for leverage as you lift your hips so he can pull them down your legs. He tosses them to the side and pushes the hoodie up over your hips before your ass meets the solid cold surface of the counter again. In the back of your mind you consider how unsanitary this is, but who gives a fuck about that when Ethan Dolan is spreading your legs wide and dragging his soft, warm tongue through the heat of your pussy?

You moan lightly and slide your fingers through the dark strands of his hair, your clit throbbing at the way he looks up at you, pupils blown out and arousal clouding his eyes. His fingers press harder into the insides of your thighs as he sighs and burrows his face deeper into your pussy now that he has the addictive taste of you on his tongue. The slick muscle swipes broad and firm up your slit a few times, then slips into your hole to fuck you with it. 

Encouraged by your increasingly loud whimpers and moans of pleasure, he gets sloppier with it, sucking on your pussy lips and licking up the juices seeping out of you. At one point he just sticks his tongue out, and you groan as you lift up on you hands with your legs hooked over his shoulders to drag your hips over his mouth, the firmness of his tongue pressing just right against your sensitive flesh.

Ethan moans this time, loud and low and rumbly as he grabs your hips and forces you back onto the counter, blanketing his mouth over you to collect a pool of wetness on his tongue before capturing your clit with a harsh suckle. You shriek and pull him tight to you by the hair, throwing your head back.

“Fuck, E, that feels so fucking good!” you groan, dipping your head back down to rest your chin on your chest to watch him work you over with his practiced expertise. 

Ethan hums around your clit and smiles, pulling back with a shake of his head. “Your pussy tastes sweeter than maple syrup, baby. Tastes so good,” he says, watching your face intently as he brings a thick finger up and slips it inside you slowly. 

He follows it with another one, then reattaches his mouth on your clit with a sigh and pushes against the back of one of your thighs with his free hand. His tongue flicks against your swollen, throbbing clit slowly a few times, then circles it before suckling on it persistently once more, his eyes shut in concentration. The fullness inside you with his digits pumping steadily and the consistent rhythm of his mouth on your clit is all you need to get you there and get you there fast.

You pull hard on his hair, forcing his eyes to open and look up at you. They’re dark with lust but shine chocolate brown in the morning sunlight streaking through the back doors and windows. Your hips jerk against his mouth at the sight coupled with the sensations he’s creating in your center. “I’m gonna cum, E, don’t stop...don’t stop!”

He doesn’t, and he groans as your pussy spasms tightly around his fingers, your clit pulsing wildly against his tongue as he works you through it with gentle movements. Your chest heaves, and you grin happily through the last few waves as you finally come to your senses again. 

Ethan stands up, looking extra proud and extra sexy with your wetness coating the lower half of his face. You take his cheeks and lick off the shiny slickness from around his lips and chin, then kiss his mouth slow and deep.

“Still have an appetite for breakfast?” you ask playfully, squeezing him to you in a hug as he wraps his muscular arms around you.

He grips the fabric of your hoodie and starts tugging upwards, grinning. “Oh, for that and more.”

[poisxnyouth]

bad influence dave part 5 (d.d)

A/N: I KNOW 3.8K ISN’T SHORT BUT I FEEL LIKE I’VE CONDITIONED MYSELF TO THINK IT IS. ANYWAY. ENJOY. LMK WHAT YOU THINK. TALK TO ME WHILE YOU READ. I LOVE YOU. LET’S CHAT. -HAILEY

Word Count: 3.85K

“David,” you whine his name, bucking up into his touch and grabbing at his hair, “We have thirty minutes before we have to go.” 

 “Hush,” he says gruffly, fingers twisting inside of you and grunting slightly, “You’re going to cum before we leave this house.” 

 Neither of you are even dressed, still in pajamas, and yet: you woke up late, kissed each other good morning, and you barely had a second to think before he was sliding his hand down the front of your sweatpants. 

 This behavior of his seems to be routine on weekends, now. You stay over at his place Friday to Sunday; every Sunday, he attempts to make you cum before having to leave for church. It’s an increasingly frustrating task for him — he knows he can, and he knows he knows how to do so, but you’re not complying with him. It’s not your fault, either:

 Sexual repression is fucking difficult to fix, apparently, and David wants to kill himself. He cannot count on both of his hands the amount of times he’s been between your legs and had to tell you, “Stop putting pressure on yourself to be able to cum. You do that, and you’ll never cum. Knock it off and let me do this. I know how to. Shut up.” It seems as though his words are finally beginning to click this time, and he can tell by the way you’re tugging so tightly at the roots of his hair as he works his mouth and fingers against you. 

 After pushing his sexual ego to the side, David got the balls to buy you a bullet vibrator – an amazing decision he couldn't regret even if he wanted to. Now, he pulls away from you before you whine again, tugging him closer.

 He continues to pull away, harshly pushing your hands off, “Stop it. Let me do this.” 

 David grabs the vibrator and flips it on, settling back between your legs and starting his work again: vibe on your clit, fingers inside, and mouth on you. As far as he’s concerned, for any other woman, this is the Holy Trinity of what it takes to orgasm, and he feels you getting so close beneath him that his heart begins racing in excitement. He watches your face twist up and you pull tighter at his hair, bucking up against him.

 This is the closest he’s gotten to making you cum so far, and he wishes he was surprised when you exhale deeply and groan, gently pushing his touches away. He knew it was too good to be true. 

 You cover your face with your hands, wanting to cry of frustration and embarrassment as David switches off the vibe. He haphazardly (and grossly) wipes his fingers on his t-shirt, wiping at his mouth before lying back down next to you. He sighs, too, pulling you into his arms and moving to grab your chin, “Look at me, babygirl.” 

 “It’s okay,” David promises and presses a gentle kiss to your lips, even though he’s just as frustrated as you are, “That was the closest we’ve been. Progress, honey. Baby steps.” 

 “I’m so mad at myself,” you say dejectedly, rolling over to get out of bed and begin getting ready, “I feel fucking broken.” 

 “Noooo,” he drags out, shaking his head and tugging off his t-shirt, “Don't feel that way, my love. Patience. It’ll come! I promise. We can always try again later.” 

 David’s been trying so hard to remain optimistic, and he still is, but it's mentally draining, and he's spreading himself thin.  He gets out of bed and lazily pulls out his Sunday best clothes: wife beater, t-shirt, dress shirt, slacks, dress shoes. At first, he had hated wearing church clothes again – as the weeks pass, though, and however unfaithful he remains, it’s his routine now. 

 He’s moving more drugs than he ever has now that he has the guise of salvation; so, to him, two hours every Sunday morning and Wednesday night in stuffy clothes is worth the extra ten grand a week. David’s already made fifty racks since being with you – a little over a month – and he has more money than he even knows what to do with. He never thought the Catholic church was his answer to being able to deal more.

 “Babygirl, have you seen my raz – Nevermind,” David has exactly ten minutes to shave his face and pull his clothes on; he’s stood in front of his mirror in his tank top, crowded next to you as you both attempt to hurriedly get ready at the same time. From his cheeks down, he’s covered in shaving cream, quickly running the blades across his skin. He leaves the faucet on as you lean over the counter next to him, in your bra and underwear, attempting to do your makeup as quickly as you can. 

 “What time is it, honey?” 

 “Seven-oh-five,” you reply, checking your phone in the middle of your mascara, “Ten minutes.” 

 It’s a forty-five-minute trip into the city, and David hates waking up so early on one of his two days off – but God, is the money worth it. Church is practically a job he gets paid two and a half G’s per hour for. Call him a priest.

 You brush your teeth simultaneously, his arm draped around your waist as you rest your head against his shoulder. You spit, rinse, and spit again at the same time before you’re both racing to tug on your clothes; David tucks his dress shirt into his slacks and slips his belt through the loops, quickly buckling it and flipping his collar up, reaching for his tie. He wraps it around his neck, not bothering tying it yet as you ask him to zip up the back of your dress. 

 He does, slipping his shoes on and tying them as you gather your belongings. God, he hates church. 

 David stashes the vibrator in his pocket when you’re not looking, grouping it in with his wallet, keys, lighter, and cigarettes. Somehow, you manage to make it out of the house and into his car on time – and you’re both exhausted. 

 He makes a mental note to himself to never do an eight ball of cocaine by himself the night before church again – his throat’s raw, and every time he speaks, it feels like he’s getting facefucked by a hundred and eighty grit sandpaper. 

 You did not participate in his festivities, but you had been all over him, drunk, in the bathroom of his friend's house as he cut himself a few lines on the granite countertops with his debit card. You watched him as he pulled out his wallet for the second time, precisely rolling up a hundred-dollar bill and bending over the counter, shamelessly snorting a line at a time. Half-way through, he stopped, tipping his head back and rubbing at his nose, sniffling and groaning quietly.

 Someone had attempted to come through the door without knocking, and David quickly shut it on them, locking the door, “Go the fuck awaaaay, dude.” 

 Handle of his pistol peeking out of the back of his shorts, he bent over again, finishing the rest of his lines and running his fingers through the numbies. David rubbed the excess dust into his gums, wiping the dampness on his fingertips on his shirt aimlessly.

 You drunkenly hung off of him, arms wrapped around his shoulders and kissing at his neck as he tipped his head backwards again, sniffling and wiping at his nose. His fingers reached for the baggy, hundred-dollar bill, and his debit card, slipping the items back into his wallet before tugging you closer and kissing you sloppily. 

 Of course, David doesn’t regret it – he regrets very little, after all – but he does feel like a hot, steaming pile of garbage, and he knows you must be hungover. He wants nothing more than a cigarette and a blunt, but God forbid-

 “Hey, are we dealing today?” You snap him out of his own head as he drives, sunglasses over his too-sensitive eyes – a result of the liquor he also put in his body the night before. 

 “Um, yeah,” he nods, one hand on the wheel at six o’clock and the other laced with yours. “I’m moving two ounces of coke upstate today. You’re just tagging along. Fuck, everything in my body hurts. I need coffee or something. Do we have time?” 

 “I think so?” you reply, digging through his center console for an aspirin, a Tylenol, a Motrin, anything to ease the headache that the sunlight’s presence is making a million times worse. “The traffic is worse than usual, so maybe we shouldn't.”

 David’s mouth and fingers are itching for a cigarette, but he knows the stench is immediately recognizable – he untangles your fingers as he gets stopped at a light, leaning over you into the passenger side and opening his dash. He rifles through it quickly, placing the spare Glock in your lap as he feels you rub at his back affectionately. He finds a pack of mint toothpicks – he knew he had some somewhere – an aged relic of when he attempted to quit smoking two years prior, opens the package, and places one in his mouth. 

 David's oral fixation momentarily relieved, he hits the gas and tells you to put the gun back. He's yet to give you a full tutorial, supplying you with sporadic explanations here and there; but you do, very carefully and very slowly, before he interrupts you.

 “Jesus, baby, it's not a bomb. You know the safety is on,” he takes it from your hands, tossing it into the dash and telling you to shut it. 

 David chews on the toothpick until the flavor is gone, rolling it between his lips as he drives, fingers laced with yours again. You speak, entirely too hungover to be going anywhere, but wanting to appreciate him, “Thanks for never judging me with the whole orgasm thing, babe. You’re too patient.”

 He tuts, squeezing your hand and hoarsely replying, “A judgmental man is a weak man, sweetheart. Gotta do what you gotta do. I’ve got you, regardless.” 

 You don't know what to say to that, going silent at his words and leaning over to put your head in his bicep, shutting your eyes. “Ugh, God. Can we call in sick?” 

 “Oh my God, can we?” he replies, mentally crossing his fingers, “Please say yes. I didn't know we could do that.” 

 “Oh, fuck it,” you move from his arm and reach for your phone, quickly texting your family and fibbing you and David don’t feel too good. It’s not a complete lie. 

 David quickly tosses out the toothpick and reaches for his cigarettes, lighting one and rolling his window down. He gets stopped at a light again after making a U-turn, subsequently rolling his sleeves up, loosening his Windsor knot, and undoing the top few buttons of his shirt, cigarette loosely between his lips. 

 He looks so hot, and you tell him so. He scoffs and doesn't acknowledge your compliment, smile playing at his lips as he takes a drag and untangles your fingers, free hand sliding up the inside of your thigh.

 “We need to talk, sweet girl,” David says vaguely, side of his knuckles rubbing gently against your underwear, “Don’t be a stupid whore and make yourself a target later today. Do as I say and nothing else. I’ll leave it at that.” 

 “I always do as you say,” you reply, spreading your legs slightly, “Why wouldn't I?”

 “Because,” he shrugs, index finger hooking at the hem of your underwear and tugging, “Some part of you has a death wish, babygirl. You don’t like to listen to me. Get these off.” 

 He tosses his cig out of the window and pulls the vibrator out of his pocket, rolling the window up and spreading your legs further apart as he continues driving. David ignores you when you ask the reasoning behind him bringing the vibe as you push the clothing down your legs, flipping the switch and placing it on you.

 “David!” you exclaim, going red in the cheeks, “We’re still in public!” 

 “My windows are tinted,” he replies coolly, throat still scratchy, “Just let me.” 

 He presses it harder against your clit, before ordering you, “Hold it there for me, sweetheart.” 

 You listen to him and do as he says, as he previously requested, just to slip his middle finger and ring finger inside of you. There's only so much he can do as he drives; his limited mobility is a struggle, but he glances between the road and between your legs as he moves his fingers with a certain finesse you can't quite do by yourself. 

 “Come on, sugar,” David presses, feeling the way your fingernails are sharply digging into his biceps as you get closer, “You can do it. Do it for Daddy, baby.” 

 He tries his hardest for a few minutes before you make a louder noise, crying out and finally releasing, and he can't believe it – he didn't think it would actually work. He always waits until you give up on yourself, sighing heavily and nearly crying of frustration.

 You push his hands away as you catch your breath, eyes looking up at the ceiling of his car as he chuckles slightly, both hands on the wheel and another toothpick between his lips, wagging slightly as he speaks, “How was that, honey?” 

 “Jesus fucking Christ,” you curse, groaning quietly, “They’re all like that?” 

 “Pretty much,” he shrugs, rolling the stick between his lips, “Proud of you. Good job, babygirl.” 

 ++ 

 David has a genuine look of indifference on his face as he gets a gun pulled on him after asking for a higher sale price of the two ounces coke, cigarette between his lips. His eyes roll as he exhales the smoke carelessly down the barrel of the gun, speaking, “I carry. My girl carries. Don’t try it. You’re outnumbered. You’re not a big boy yet, man. It’s okay. Just give me the extra cash.” 

 “I won't shoot you if you don’t give me a reason to,” he promises, taking a drag as he pulls out his Glock, “Point that at her, though, and I will. Give it.” 

 “Fuck,” the man curses – David’s nonchalance is one of his best attributes – eyes rolling and taking the gun off of him, “Fine. I hate you. You’re a little shit.”

 David gets in the car with five grand more than he thought he would come back with, casually sucking his teeth and tossing the gun in the backseat. He places a toothpick between his lips, tutting, “That guy’s an asshole. Fifteen bands, though. You want something nice?”

 “Don't spend your money on me,” you say, “Not worth it.”

 “Liar,” he chuckles, beginning to drive, “Sweetheart, I’ve made seventy-five thousand dollars in the past month and a half. I have almost four hundred thousand dollars to my name in cash. I have more money than I know what to do with. Let me buy you shit.”

 “I’m not going to ask you for anything,” you promise, “Not with you for the money. I don't give a shit. I like when you're successful.”

 “Riiiiiight,” he says doubtfully, “Okay, so when you come home to expensive packages you 'didn't want,’” he air-quotes mockingly, laughing slightly, “I want a picture of you and whatever I buy you and you saying, ‘No, thank you, Daddy. I don't want this Versace dress, I promise.’” 

 “I hate you so much,” you shove playfully, “Of course I’ll accept...but is that shit worth getting a gun pulled on for?”

 “Ha,” David actually says, glancing between you and the road, “Anything for my girl.”

 ++ 

 “God, baby. What are you doing?” David gripes in a whisper, eyeing the bong in your hands, “Putting that shit through college? Light the bowl and get on with it.” 

 You’ve had David in your life for three months now, dating him for one, and somehow, there are still things you haven't been taught how to do. Unfortunately, this includes how to use a bong, and now you’re under pressure, sitting in his lap. You’re both squoze in a shitty plastic chair, everyone arranged in a circle in one of David’s jerkoff friend’s backyards. 

 David is the only man in his friend group who has a girl.

 David wipes at the corner of his mouth quickly before his hands are on your waist, mouth by your ear, “I’m telling you how to do this once, and only once.” 

 “Thumb over the carb. The back hole, baby,” he clarifies, “Mouth in the top hole. Seal. Light. Now, pull.”

 You do as he says, his voice quiet as his friends make small talk with each other, eyeing the way he aids you, “Pullpullpullpull. Take off your thumb. Inhale all of it.” 

 You do, inhaling as much as you can, cough-free, quickly exhaling before he’s clearing the chamber for you, wiping the mouthpiece with the sleeve of his t-shirt before passing the glass to his buddy next to him. No one is saying it, but all they can think of when they watch you two is a charity case. They would never dare speak it – David would probably kill them – but he was never the type for good girls.

 He’s sweet, for the most part, sure – but he’s also fucked every other girl sitting in that entire circle and none of them come close to being the same species as you. David’s wearing his cross again, something he stopped doing years ago, and you’re wearing one too. They also know he’s moving more coke and MDMA than he has in his entire life – it’s no coincidence.

 He’s not manipulative, never has been, so it’s not that. He’s truly interested, and they can’t figure it out; you’re an odd match for him, and David seems especially enamored as you light his cigarette for him, eyes on his. He exhales the first drag quickly before kissing you, wholly on display for everyone who cares to see as he shamelessly tugs you closer after taking another drag. He shotguns the cigarette smoke with you, and judging by the way you’ve got your arms wrapped around his neck and the hickeys on his skin are peeking out from under his wife beater tank top – you’re enamored with him as much as he is with you.

 They’ve all seen this man rail lines of ketamine and cocaine right after one another off of a random broad’s ass and continue his night doing shots, girls at his fingertips wherever he went; so, to see him so voluntarily committed to one woman – a woman who’s good for him and a woman who’s not like him at all – is staggering. They understand David well enough to know he doesn't force himself into anything; if he’s in a situation, it’s because he puts himself there, and if he wanted out, he would leave.

 The most substantial evidence of this thought process of his is every girl’s experience with him in the bedroom behind closed doors. Not bad, performance wise, of course – but he’s selfish. One particular anecdote cites him pulling out, tearing off the condom, getting dressed, and asking said girl to leave. ‘Fuck, this sucks. You can go home now, sugar. Thanks, anyway, though,’ he had supposedly said, bathroom door shutting and shower turning on before she was even able to get her bra back on. He ended up cumming down his shower drain to the thought of Blake Lively’s tits, free hand holding himself up against the wall of white porcelain tiles as his free palm and fingers worked over himself, not feeling one inkling of guilt for that poor girl – who’s now bitterly sitting across from you and David in the circle, watching you cluelessly kiss the taste of Coors Light off of his lips.

 You and David are hardly paying attention to anything besides each other, and it’s been this way every time he's visited, and you’ve tagged along. Cigarette between his fingers, he whispers comments to you to make you giggle, resembling rebellious teenagers at a shitty house party as the fingers of his spare hand creep up the hem of your (David’s) t-shirt. 

 It comes as a shock for everyone, including you, when David pushes your hair out of your face and murmurs a quiet admission without thinking twice about the meaning of it, “I love you, my sweet girl.” 

 Even while stoned, you feel yourself go breathless in his hold as he continues to nonchalantly play with the ends of your hair and kisses your forehead, ensuring, “Say it back whenever you want to. No pressure, babygirl. I’m just saying.” 

 A quiet but not unnoticed interaction, it’s painfully obvious to everyone how beguiled he is with you – a scarce but not entirely unfamiliar feeling for him to experience. He’s a grown man; he’s been in love before. David’s best quality is his self-awareness; he knows it’s too early, and he knows himself well enough to understand that he will be wholeheartedly, emotionally fucked if something, however much unanticipated, goes wrong with your relationship.

 It’s a chance he’s willing to take, and he’s not ashamed of it – he’s too comfortable with himself to be ashamed of any of his desires. That being said, it doesn't take the surprise out of him when you reciprocate his words following a moment of silence, leaning in to kiss him.

 David’s previous projects look on amid their conversations, covetous eyes rolling while he smiles into your kisses and lets you affectionately run your fingers through his scruff. Adorning one of his t-shirts, his signature scent of weed and sweet cigarettes is slowly becoming engraved into your skin and your hair, scarlet and plum hickeys almost always smattered against your collarbone and shoulders as evidence of his residency in your personal life. 

 At the recognition and confirmation of your mutual attraction, David’s ready to go home, heart eyes taking over his desire for social company as he flicks his cigarette and stands with you, murmuring a quiet, “You wanna get the fuck outta here?” into your ear.

 You nod, and David quickly bids everyone goodnight, leading you by the small of your back to the car, sighing, “Fuck, I’m glad to be outta there. They were on some other shit tonight.” 

 “They seemed pissed at you,” you comment as he turns the key in the ignition, lacing your fingers together and resting your head on his shoulder, breathing him in, “Why?”

 “I don't give a shit,” he shrugs, absentmindedly driving, “I don't think about them at all anymore.” 

 “I love you,” you say randomly a few minutes later, squeezing his hand, “For real. I’m so grateful for you.” 

 “I love you, too, my sweet girl,” David promises, eyes switching between you and the road, “You make me so much nicer.”

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

How about fun sex tropes number 3 w sledgefu? 😊

3. sex on a countertop/tabletop/sink because we couldn’t wait to get somewhere with cushions

I wanted to do something with the quarantine, so this is a modern-ish AU. Also, hopefully you like my chosen hard surface! I love Sledgefu but do find it difficult bc the Sledgefu writers in this fandom are … pretty much actual gods.

I loved writing this though, so thanks for the request 😊

* * * * *

Gene was done.

Completely over it.

His classes had been cancelled for the remainder of the semester, and he was suddenly filled with a sense of purposelessness.

“Gene. If ya don’t find somethin’ to do, I’m gonna have to find somethin’ for ya.”

Normally, Snafu’s words would have been suggestive, dirty actually, except that he really was tired of Eugene acting like a Victorian dandy in distress.

He would sit down to read, then stand up with a dramatic sigh as he tossed his book back on the couch. He’d putz around the apartment, opening doors then closing them, like he was looking for something. He’d clean the bathroom, then the bedroom, grumbling all the while about Snafu’s dirty laundry being everywhere but in the hamper, and in Snafu’s defense, it was usually only an errant sock or maybe the shirt that he had just taken off for the day.

Sometimes, Gene would head into the kitchen and start cooking something, only to have some minor step in the recipe go wrong and the entire dish would be tossed in the trash.

That didn’t just annoy Snafu; he hated it. Food was not ever something to be wasted.

So, when Gene started pulling ingredients out of the cupboard, it was Snaf who snapped his book shut with a sigh.

“Stop, Gene,” he commanded while walking into the kitchen.

“You tooold me to find something to do,” Gene whined.

“Not waste food.”

“Fine,” Eugene snapped and began putting the strewn ingredients back into the fridge and the cupboard.

“Put ya overshirt on.”

“Why?” he said, crossing his arms and pouting in a way that made Snafu want to slap him or kiss him—when Gene was difficult like this, he wasn’t sure which option would actually make him feel the best once it was done considering he’d only ever tried the kissing.

Snafu ran a hand through his curls, which were bordering on wild thanks to the quarantine. Eugene had offered to give him a trim, but he had only eyed his boyfriend warily, thanking him, but deciding to wait for the barber to open.

Gene’s hair was longer than usual, too, but it suited him. Snaf loved to run his hands through it, pushing it back from his forehead and just feeling the way the silky, auburn strands fell from his fingertips as he pulled Eugene’s hair up and away from his face.

“Because I asked ya to.”

Gene huffed but made his way to the bedroom. Snafu grabbed a light jacket from one of the hooks near the front door and checked the pocket for the keys to his truck. Reaching back to make sure he had his wallet, he slipped into his shoes and waited for Eugene to emerge.

“Where we goin?”

“I’ll tell ya when we get there.”

Eugene frowned, but Snafu saw something come alive in his eyes, something he hadn’t seen since the first few weeks of the quarantine when Eugene realized that he was locked inside with his boyfriend without anything to do for days and days except make love.

It was wonderful, a damn near divine experience for them both until the days droned on into weeks, then months, and they both began to realize that something like this was going to alter life as they had known it forever.

Gene followed Snafu out of the apartment, doubling back to make sure the door was definitely locked.

They drove in a comfortable silence for the first hour, the radio quietly singing but not much louder than the sound of Snaf’s truck rumbling down the highway.

During the second hour, Gene started getting antsy: shuffling in his seat, resetting his seatbelt only to adjust it again in a few more minutes, opening the glovebox for no reason and shuffling through whatever Snafu had crammed in there.

Maybe this is worse than wastin’ food, Snafu thought as he watched Gene in his peripheral.  

When Eugene adjusted his seatbelt for the third time in a row, Snaf turned his head to look over at him and ended up smiling at the way his hair caught the last rays of the dying sunlight, looking golden at the edges, like a halo on a deeply ripened strawberry.

“Talk to me, Gene. Ain’t dat wha’ we do?” Snafu asked before reluctantly turning his eyes back to the road.

Gene said nothing for several minutes, and Snaf didn’t push; he knew how this worked, how stubborn Eugene Sledge could be.

After two more sighs and another snap of his seatbelt, Gene started talking.

He fumbled through his words at first, restarting his sentences and trailing off with a frustrated, “You know what I mean,” until suddenly, he found the right metaphor for what he was feeling and then he couldn’t stop talking.

Gene talked for the next hour of the trip, talked until his mouth was dry.

But god be damned if he didn’t feel better, like he had just purged himself of a gut full of rotten meat.

“Can we stop at the next gas station? I’m parched,” Gene asked, his voice raspy, but his tone light.  

“I think ‘bout a lotta those things, too,” Snaf said quietly as he slid his hand over to flick the turn signal, the ticking filling the truck in the silence after his statement.

“How—how come you don’t let it . . . eat at you? I feel like I’m just raw with worryin.”

Snafu was quiet for a moment, his eyes checking the rearview and the side mirror as he switched lanes to catch the exit.

“I jus’ figure as long as I’ve got you, nothin’ else really matters. Sounds stupid, don’t it?” Snafu said with a soft laugh.

No—no it was not stupid at all, Eugene thought, realizing he wanted to do nothing other than to kiss Snafu silly for saying the most brilliant thing he had ever heard.

And once the truck was in park, Gene did just that.

He tore off his seatbelt and slid to the center of the truck, almost smacking into Snafu as he turned to see what the hell had gotten into his boyfriend, but he didn’t have to wonder long because Gene planted his lips on him in a searing kiss.  

He pulled on Snafu’s lower lip with his teeth, sucking it into his mouth before he tilted his head and thrust his tongue inside, earning a moan of approval from Snafu.

Snafu’s tongue swirled around Gene’s, his mouth open wide, wanting to taste every inch of the man who meant so much to him.

Eugene was almost in Snaf’s lap when Snafu closed their kiss, gently pushing Gene away.

“Thought you was parched?” he panted.

“I am—but I guess not just for soda,” Gene grinned.

Snafu laughed and shook his head. “Come on. We got a long drive back. Let’s get some caffeine.”

Eugene clutched at Snafu’s shoulder. “This is . . . it? We’re not going anywhere?”

“No, cher. I jus’ needed ya to talk to me. Didn’t know how else to get ya to do it.”

Eugene’s face burst into the first genuine smile Snafu had seen in over two weeks.

“You sly sonofagun,” Gene said, still grinning.

“Gotta stay on ma toes with you.”

“I could kiss you.”

“Ya already have.”

“I could kiss you forever.”

“Genie, dat’s all I’m eva gonna need,” Snaf said, leaning over to press a soft kiss to Gene’s lips. “Come on—now I’m parched.”

Stocked up with drinks and snacks, the boys began their drive home, this time with Eugene sitting in the middle of the cab, leaning into Snafu’s shoulder as the conversation flowed freely amidst their glances and their laughter that now filled the cab, drowning out the music.

But after a while, it wasn’t enough for Gene to just lean into Snafu; he had started with his hand mid-thigh, an act of sweet affection more than sexual suggestion, but the affectionate gesture shifted quickly to the latter when Gene’s fingers began to flex, crawling up Snafu’s thigh higher and higher until the Cajun’s foot hitched on the gas.

“Wha’chu doin, boo?”

“Touchin’ you.”

“We makin’ poetry now?”

“Pull over ‘n we can sure make somethin,” Gene said, leaning over to capture Snafu’s earlobe between his teeth.

Snafu made a noise in his throat and took the next exit.

“There,” Eugene said, pointing to the sign that signaled a pull off for a nature preserve.

Snafu drove over the winding roads until he found a secluded turnoff, perfectly bottlenecked by tall, bald cypresses. He drove a ways into the clearing, cut the engine, and cracked the window.

“Nice out he—mmf,” Snaf began before he got cut off by a red head in his lap, squeezing between him and the steering column, the horn emitting a short beep, but neither of the boys caring as they kissed, intense and deep, lost in something they both had been badly missing.

“Want you so much. Need you Snaf,” Gene puffed out between kisses.

Snafu pushed Gene back a little, the horn again reminding them of their tight position.

“Think we need more room?”

“Ya gotta get off ma lap first,” Snaf replied with a smirk, giving Gene’s ass a light smack before he wiggled back to the middle seat.

After his feet plopped onto the dirt, Snafu pushed up his seat to pull out the sleeping bag he kept there.

“Gene,” Snaf spoke up before the red head could slide all of the way out of the cab.

He angled his curly head toward the glovebox, and Eugene popped it open, rummaging through it to find the tube of lubricant.

The boys settled in the back of the truck, and it was clear that Eugene needed to take control by the way he was immediately on top of Snafu, and it was clear that Snafu was open to whatever it was Gene needed by the way he was sighing underneath him.  

Popping open Snafu’s jeans, Gene reached in and palmed his hard cock, rubbing and twisting until there was pre-cum slickening his thumb.  

“I wanna fuck you so bad, Snaf. Bury my cock in you.”

“Do it, Gene. Miss ya so much.”

Popping the top off, Gene smeared lubricant on his fingers and crawled back over Snaf, spreading his legs with his knees and quickly working Snaf’s dick and opening with each hand. Eugene quickly jerked Snafu off, his hand flying over Snafu’s hard cock, twisting at the tip just the way he liked until he was spilling hot cum all over his stomach and Gene’s hand.

Before Snafu’s breathing had time to even out, Eugene slickened up his cock with the lube and positioned himself at his entrance, pushing slowly until Snafu breathed, “Fuck me.”

Eugene groaned, low and animalistic, and thrust into Snaf’s heat, both of their eyes squeezing shut at the intensity of the sensation.

“Gene,” he breathed, laying back on his elbows and looking up at the night sky, his throat bared and Eugene’s eyes raked over Snafu’s body, thinking he had never looked sexier.

“You’re beautiful,” Gene breathed as he began to move, slowly, caught up in everything that was Snafu.

Snafu’s cheeks flushed and he was glad it was too dark for Gene to see him blush. Countering the intensity of his own emotions, he bit out, “Tell me ya wan’ more. I know ya wan’ more.”

Eugene moaned and pulled out of Snafu.

“Hands and knees,” he demanded, watching intently as Snafu shot him a toothy grin that Gene could see perfectly under the night sky before he rolled over and got in position.

Gene pressed a kiss to the base of Snafu’s spine before he straightened and brought both hands down on Snafu’s ass, digging his fingers into his cheeks as he pushed into him again, the growl of satisfaction emitting from Snaf spurring Gene to really let go, to fuck him like he needed to fuck him.

Eugene admired the flexing of Snafu’s ass as he pounded into him, both of them groaning out their pleasure to the trees, to the stars, to the night itself until Gene finally felt like he had purpose again.

This man, so open and willing in front of him, was his purpose. How he could have forgotten that, he would never know, so he swore as his hips stuttered to a halt and he came inside of Snafu’s body, swore that he would never forget again.

Gene collapses on top of Snafu, pressing him into the bed of the truck, distracting the discomfort with the kisses he is peppering across every part of his boyfriend that he can reach.

“Wow,” Gene said rolling onto his back and releasing Snafu.

“I’ll fuckin’ say,” Snaf answered, rolling onto his back, too.

“Did I ever tell you you’re the best boyfriend this side of the Mississippi?”

“Only this side?”

“Well, we’re still young,” he joked as Snafu reached out to smack him. “Once this quarantine lets up . . .”  

They both laugh as they shimmy back into their clothes, sliding out of the truck bed and standing in the dewy grass.

“Thank you,” Gene said, pulling Snafu close to him.

“I love ya, Gene. Jus’ want ya to be happy.”

“I am happy. I really, really am.”

And when he leans in to kiss him, Snafu knows that Eugene means it.

[yourlocalslasher]

im late to the bo smut party here but your story got me weakk. Will you be writing another soon or a continuation of that bo x carly one? Plzzzz

Yes yes I’ll just do a Bo x Reader smut because I kinda HATE Carly. I am so so so sorry for the wait my brain explodes often now. No warnings, just plain old smut because, d i c c . And I just kinda threw this together I hope its ok luv~~ ;-;

NSFW beneath the cut

Your head slammed against the wall, Bo’s firm hand entangled in your hair. Loud heavy metal was blasting in the background, muffling your screams and moans. "That's it babygirl...you take this cock so well..."

Bo thrust into your back again, sending your head to the wall. He was so rough with it, it was almost impossible to stay still. His fingers made their way to your boobs, hardening them almost instantly with his rough touch.

The gas station lights threatened to go out, flickering as you got pounded into the wall once more. Bo then grabbed you by your waist, bending you over the countertop next to the cash register.

Wincing in pain, you got impaled by his cock again, his grunts and pants close by your ear.

"Don't you want, some of this, don't you need, some of this"

The lyrics of the song faded out as you felt your guts being fucked out of you, thrust by thrust.

You grabbed the edge of the countertop, screaming and moaning wildly as Bo yanked and tugged at your hair.

“C’mon darlin’, take a few more for me won’t’cha?”

Your torso kept slamming into the counter, Bo managing to keep his insanely intense pace. The moment you stopped moaning his name to catch a breath, you heard his husky pants right beside your ear.

“You’ll keep screamin’ if y’know what's good for ya.” Bo could barely speak, sweating running down the sides of his face. Your insides were aching, surprisingly not used to the feeling of him stabbing you from the inside.

“F-fuck Bo-” Another lurch forward, your walls clenching around him. He noticed it too. Despite his sweaty out of breath state, he wanted to keep his teasing composure. “You like my big cock in your pretty lil’ pussy, huh?”

“Sh-shut the f-fuck up!” The cold counter hardened your nipples again, your legs shaking and buckling as you lost more and more stamina. With a breathy moan, your orgasm came pouring out and onto your bare legs.

Bo cursed under his breath, yanking your hair one last time before spilling his own seed into your dripping cunt. The feeling of it running down your legs made you shudder, your head falling to rest on the counter as you hurried to catch your breath.

He went ahead and slapped your ass, whistling loud and obvious as he admired the scene before him. “Good round, darlin’.”

There were visible bruises on your waist, neck, and ass. Great.

He brought his finger across your slit, getting a good fingerful of cum to lick off. His calloused fingers sent a chill up your spine, a good one though.

Bo flipped you once more, making sure you could see him easily. He stuck the finger in his mouth, pulling it out with an audible pop. "Deeelicious." He couldn't help but exaggerate it, watching you squirm. "You're such a sinner, Bo."

He leaned forward to kiss your forehead gently. "You ain't no better yourself, slut" Your jaw dropped, a bit offended.

"My slut."

That was better.

[granitemarbles-blog]

Click here for three countertop ideas that will revolutionize your kitchen.

[granitecounter]

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[jodybouchard9]

10 Ways To Make Your Outdoor Space Usable Year-Round

Jennifer Blount / Getty Images

As the coronavirus hangs on into the fall season, having outdoor space is proving more valuable than ever. But now that cooler weather is on the way, stretching out the life of your porch, backyard, or balcony is the next smart step.

Especially in colder northern climates, where summers are shorter, extending the use of outdoor areas is an increasingly essential step, says Ana Cummings of the eponymous design firm.

Gathering the right gear ahead of time so your family and (a few) guests are comfy means you’ll enjoy the great outdoors for longer.

To warm up your outside rooms, try these 10 ideas to retrofit your yard or patio for the cooler fall season.

1. Fire pit

Cozy up to your own set of flames this fall.

Wayfair

“Outdoor fireplaces or fire pits are a big win once the sun goes down and the weather cools off,” says Marty Basher, a home design and organizational expert at Modular Closets.

Choose the best option for your space based on your budget and the square footage in your yard. And don’t forget to pick up a set of extra-long skewers for s’mores. (They’re not just a summertime treat!)

This portable fire pit ($105, Wayfair) is easy to assemble, burns wood, and comes with its own cover for smart storage when the season is over.

2. Heat lamps

Photo by Christian Rice Architects, Inc. 

Make like a European sidewalk cafe and set up standing propane or electric heat lamps, says Basher. Or consider installing an infrared heating device in your porch ceiling.

“These are a step up from traditional gas options and much sleeker and safer—and streamlined models can be inserted so that they heat a person directly, not the elements around them,” says Cummings.

Consider a patio heat lamp ($149, Lowe’s) that takes just a screwdriver to assemble, has a no-tip base, and heats up in mere seconds.

For maximum coziness, you can even find heated furniture.

“There are outdoor selections that can be plugged in to keep you warm as you stargaze from your backyard,” she adds.

3. Plush cushions and blankets

Photo by Eden Clark of VEDA Design Group 

No one wants to sit on cold, wrought-iron or plastic deck chairs when the weather turns chilly, so be sure seat cushions and outdoor pillows are thick enough for the season. And a basket full of warm throws is another cozy touch.

“Wool blankets are the best for regulating temperature, especially lightweight merino or cashmere ones, which make lingering on the patio or in the yard luxurious,” says Cummings.

We love this ultrasoft Peruvian blanket ($598, Serena & Lily) for its chunky knit texture and handmade appeal.

4. Privacy screen

This attractive pick comes in charcoal and espresso shades.

Wayfair

Blocking the wind in cooler weather is easy enough with the addition of a wooden wall or screen, says Cummings. Or consider latticework, a cheaper pick that can also surround or partly enclose a patio or one side of a balcony.

How about an outdoor screen ($107, Wayfair) that tricks the eye—is it a floral design or zebra? Either way, the abstract design offers privacy and a visual element for a very fair price.

5. Curtained pergola

Photo by Baker Patios 

A pergola or gazebo is another upgrade that can take your outdoor space from summer to fall, especially if you add curtains that can be drawn when the temperatures dip.

“Pergolas give your outdoor area the feeling of a more permanent room—and for some of these, you can add a removable roof to expand its use when the weather isn’t ideal,” says Basher.

6. Small cooktop

“While a full outdoor kitchen may not be in the budget, setting up a grill or small cooktop may be doable—and there are free-standing countertop and sink combos available for under $500,” says Basher.

You might also redo an outdoor bar cart to signal fall and cooler temps (think mugs for tea, a jar of cinnamon sticks for warm cider, and brown spirits for Manhattans and hot toddies).

7. All-weather rugs

Choose a runner or rectangle to fit the space you have.

Amazon

To keep your feet toasty, add a layer underfoot to warm an outdoor space. All-weather rugs can stand up to the elements, particularly those made from polypropylene. Just keep in mind that carpet with a thick pile won’t work on a deck or patio.

The Moroccan pattern on this all-weather rug ($46, Amazon) is the exact pop of color you need on a typical all-brown patio or deck. Be sure to use a nonslip rug pad underneath to prevent shifting, and rotate this carpet so any color loss over time is evenly distributed.

8. Extra lighting

Old-school bulbs give your outdoor space a vintage style.

Amazon

Candles and outdoor lamps won’t add warmth per se, but the ambiance they offer is enough keep the chill away. You can’t really overdo outdoor lighting, so go a little nuts with twinkling lights wrapped around pillars, glowing lanterns that act as side tables, Mason jars with tea lights suspended from above, and Tiki torches placed strategically in the yard.

For vintage flair on your deck, we suggest these dimmable, weatherproof lights ($30, Amazon) with Edison bulbs. And the setup’s a breeze since each light has an individual hook attached so you can quickly hang the lights with nails or hooks.

9. Covered daybed

Photo by Home Infatuation 

Get warm in an outdoor daybed that’s dressed with faux fur blankets and soft pillows. You’ll also stave off the breeze with an option that features retractable blinds or side panels.

Try this retractable patio daybed ($340, Walmart) in rustic wicker by your pool or under a tree. The thick cushions are washable, and the wide expanse means there’s room for you, your hubs, and the dog.

10. Small shed

Photo by Equity Northwest Real Estate Meridian

Want to splurge on a real structure?

“Studio sheds have become all the rage of late, and they’re very versatile,” says Basher.

Warm up in a she shed for some me time or use it as an office, homework space, crafting spot, or meditation area.

The post 10 Ways To Make Your Outdoor Space Usable Year-Round appeared first on Real Estate News & Insights | realtor.com®.