#in terms of top/bottom

[oobbbear]

I want to post this here too because I’ve seen it happen a few times

Please understand that there are cultural differences and language differences, if you see this happening let the person clarify what they meant, that person might just not be familiar with words the western side of the internet use

[intermundia]

i just read about the "narcissism of small differences," aka the idea that the more a community has in common, the more likely the people in it are to engage in interpersonal feuds and mutual ridicule because of hypersensitivity to minor differences perceived in each other, and i knew there was a reason my time in academia and fandom felt oddly similar lmao

[sharkenedfangs]

— ☆ “SWEET LIKE NECTAR.”

— #. synopsis. because to whitney, there’s nothing prettier, downright satisfying to gaze upon the rosy cheeks you adopt in response to the invasive questioning, that pride of yours so amusing to patiently chip away at, piece by piece. in fact, if you could, you’d evade it altogether though that would mean defeat, wouldn’t it? and there’s nothing you detest more in this shitty world than to fucking lose.

— #. content warning! step-cest, dub-con, anal fucking, nipple sucking, some light degradation here and there as in the use of ‘slut’ and ‘whore’ , referring to whitney’s chest as ‘tits’ , big brother whitney being a bitch, loser male reader being an even bigger one in that respect and fuck, did I forget anything else?

— #. word count? 5.2k, if I remember correctly. this is a repost.

— #. something more to say, asher? : “I couldn’t help myself. had to bring back the classic onto here, y’know. ruining whitney’s slutty hole never gets old, specially big brother.”

Moreover, you should’ve probably have expected this one measly question to slip past your older brother’s lips, leering gaze openly taking your conflicted expression in as if taunting you to properly answer. You wouldn’t lie to me, would you? ‘Course not, like you could anyway. He’d see right past it like he usually does, testing the waters — he’d call it, laying out the fresh bait for your conscious little self to latch onto immediately.

Because to Whitney, there’s nothing prettier, downright satisfying to gaze upon the rosy cheeks you adopt in response to the invasive questioning, that pride of yours so amusing to patiently chip away at, piece by piece. In fact, if you could, you’d evade it altogether though that would mean defeat, wouldn’t it?

And there’s nothing you detest more in this shitty world than to fucking lose.

Especially to this one bastard. Too damn nosy to discreetly mind his own business, y’know? Always the one to hover too close for comfort, bated breath feathering delicately against the soft skin of your flushed ear, to keep you tightly on edge. Long past that, it’s starting to get on your nerves how self-assured he is in his flawed reasoning, simply since he had you sloppily suck him off once on the worn couch and now, it’s what? Only natural to drag you around like some sort of thoughtless puppy? Shamelessly refer to you as his trained, little bitch who’ll get on his knees for the right price?

Gotta be fucking kidding then.

It was the alcohol. Nothing, but the intoxicating substance drumming along your veins that had you act in such a debauched manner, had your painfully hard cock straining against the front of your pants. Yeah. Right? That’s all there was to it. Nothing more.

At least, that’s what you keep insistently reminding yourself of despite the growing, churning heat in your stomach, the not-so-subtle twitching of your hardening cock stirring beneath your ripped jeans or the individual droplets of sweat gently trickling down the navel of your slouched back. Alright, keep fucking lying to yourself then. Surely that’ll help you with your current predicament that you’ve stuck yourself into, muddied foot deep within the shallow trenches and a solid grasp firmly placed around your ankle, threatening to snap your dignity in half.

“Well?” Visibly irritated by your lack of answer, it’s Whitney’s increasingly impatient, snappy voice that unfortunately draws you back from your spiralling calculations — whether to respond with the humiliating truth or not. Can’t let it go, can he? Hence why he so nonchalantly has you sat on his used bed, the rusted springs hidden beneath the dusty mattress alerting your every subtle movement with a distinct creak reverberating through the thin walls.

“Well, what?” Idiot, you know very damn well what he’s getting at, it’s not like you suffer from some sort of amnesiac disease to utilise cluelessness and have him fooled with such blatant tactics.

“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” Should be wiping that snide, awful smirk that instantly appears on his face as he carelessly articulates the question once more. Shameless in his pursuit, hungrily eyeing you up and down like an untouched piece of meat to greedily feast upon, sink his pearly, white fangs into.

Oh, thank the heavens that you weren’t consuming any sort of liquid right this moment because it would’ve been shot straight out of your throat, maybe your nose even considering the absurd sentence from your very own brother — step-brother, to be exact. Still in denial that you two could potentially call each other family, far too homely of a term than the puzzling relationship you both share. Speaking of, you haven’t replied to his question yet and by the looks of it, he isn’t looking too pleased with you if you were to stretch this on any further than it should be.

“N-No, I’ve actually fucked my fair share of girls.” Oh yeah, he’s definitely believing you with that stuttering, the uncertainty all too evident in your tone that only a complete, utter moron would’ve fallen for it. Fucking liar. It wasn’t as though you were entirely lying though, having indeed fucked a girl before, but does it really count if that same person were to be your younger sister, Kylar? At most, you’ve had your decent amount of experiences with others, dated a few girls here and there which is to be acceptable for the average boy of your age. However, beyond the intimate acts of holding hands and bashful kissing, you remained oblivious to the process of well, sex — save for the over the top, raunchy porn you’d occasionally watch and that sole encounter with Kylar that taught you far more than any cheap film ever could.

So, it’s still reasonable, is it not? Though this is Whitney you’re directly dealing with and you know better than to assume he’d take plain ‘no’ for an answer, often brash in his selfish desires. No, more like every time whenever he does act, it leads up to the very same, repetitive situation you’ve familiarized yourself to. You, beneath him. You, helpless in the face of his cruel actions.

Not this time though — fuck, that nasty, little scheme of yours slowly, but ever so surely lurking within the depths of your working mind, grateful for the blonde’s clear ignorance of the shit you were ready to commit to regain that minuscule shred of dignity back. None the wiser, preferring it’d remain that way.

And he can only sharply scoff back to your half-assed attempt at muttering obvious falsehoods. Too cunning of a bastard and god, does it mess with you. “Bullshit. You think I’d believe that? Fuckin’ cmon, admit it. You’ve never really fucked a girl before, huh?” That sickening, creeping nausea steadily filling the depths of your guts from the way he so arrogantly taunts you through his ‘light-hearted’ insults, inadvertently painting you as some sort of virgin loser that never so much as had the slightest chance of growing affectionate with another woman. Fucked your goddamn sister so that’s a one-up on you, huh? Hell, you know better than to let such an obscene admission escape you — since she’s your sister now too, that innocence you so greedily stripped away that one faithful evening within the four corners of her room.

Rather not indulge in such sinful thoughts at the moment, not when your prolonged silence is only confirming his self-righteous suspicions to which he so stubbornly convinced himself of. Knowing better than to reason with your older brother, it’s merely when you do finally relent with a reluctant nod of your head — still maintaining a thin layer of deceit, mind you — that his smug grin widens considerably in return. “So you’re an unused slut, basically.” Choice of words never was the delinquent’s forte, but his crude, frank vocabulary certainly is as he so eloquently puts it. “Hah — I fuckin’ knew it. Wouldn’t be cumming so quickly if you weren’t.” He huffs back in amusement at the sight of your apparent fluster, always so damn squirmy whenever he playfully pokes fun at one of your concealed insecurities. Oh, you really don’t know the dizzying effect you have on him, do you?

The numerous nights spent lazily fisting the base of his cock underneath the woollen covers placed over his bare, sweating body to at the very least obscure his depraved actions — not that he cared much whether he was scandalously caught or not. Much so, he’d prefer if it were you to coincidentally’ walk in on him mid-jerk off session, land a helping hand to big brother and let him use you however he saw fit. Fuck, yeah. That’d aid him in his ever growing lust for you, borderline animalistic in how he addictively sought you out as expected, like a sweet, sweet drug longing to be taken. A sweet nectar freshly ripe for the taking, plucked free from the gracious buds of the tree to gratefully sink his fangs into and savour the refreshing taste lingering on his tongue.

Feels so right to defile your prudish self, doesn’t it? So, don’t blame him then. Don’t blame him when he suggests— no, coldly orders you to strip off your damn pants which prompts another gaping stare of yours to the sudden command. Handsome, but so, so clueless, aren’t you? Needs to tell you to do everything for your sluggish brain to eventually catch up to his ever approaching rhythm, cocky grin plastered onto his lips signalling that your step-brother is indeed not kidding around as per usual.

“What’re you waitin’ for? I said, strip.” It’s not a gentle reminder nor a well-intentioned push in the right direction, it’s a repeated warning of his thinly veiled frustrations peeking its way through, past the useless restraints he placed onto himself when he could easily be given what he’s wanted. Not without force, though that is in Whitney’s nature to be as rough as possible, having grown accustomed to things going his way whenever he inevitably turned to bloodied brutality. After all, the bully doubts so himself that you don’t furtively desire this all the same too, conflicted movements headed towards the leathered loop of your belt as you willingly comply as tasked to. Good boy, knew you had it in y’a.

“Do I really gotta do this?” If it weren’t for the pretty, pink flush adorning the entirety of your face right now, your older brother would’ve definitely snapped back with a snarky remark of his own, however the sight itself is enough to let him have your dumb self uselessly hope a little further. What does it look like, little brother? Has Whitney ever backtracked on his truthful words?

“Yeah, you gotta cuz’ I told you to. Now just fuckin’ do it already, slut. I don’t got all day.”

“..Fine.” Having fully predicted such a response, heavy shoulders slouching lazily in defeat from the refusal, you shyly carry on with the clumsy strip tease of yours. Can never get your way with him, can y’a?

Goddamn it, shamefully reprimanding yourself for even following suit to his harsh retort though, can you really blame yourself? He’s got you — fucking, trained you like a dog. That’s what it is, a stupid, dumb mutt that can’t help but intrinsically cave in to its depraved instincts as his rightful owner happily taught him to, mindlessly huffing and wagging its fluffy tail to the sugary sweet praise whispered to him. Conditioning you to his every whim as a promising, rewarding treat awaits in exchange for your dutiful obedience, not bothering to keep your remaining underwear either. Big brother knows best, huh? Look at that pitiful expression etched along your features, averting gaze straying away from his piercing own that’s settled precisely on the drooling tip of your fat, twitching cock dribbling out an alarming amount of pre-cum. How you resist the underlying temptation to automatically press your legs together, denying Whitney of that upfront, perverted view of your spread thighs. So damn easy to get you riled up in a matter of seconds when a tight, warm hole is involved in the filthy equation.

As ensured, you’ll receive as you wish, pup. Only natural to fulfill what you so gravely desire when you’ve been so good so far, right? Offer you the bearing fruits of your well-earned efforts in return while you thoughtlessly salivate over the mere idea, yeah?

“Whitney, this is kinda embarrassing..” Kinda? Practically humiliating to display yourself so lewdly like this, however not as if you hadn’t experienced this rarely either in the past few weeks that steadily transpired. Should’ve grown used to it by now, actually. Still, the lingering shyness of brazenly exposing yourself like this was too much to bear at times, especially with the other’s daunting ogling. Really has to unabashedly eye-fuck you every single time or something. It’s.. somewhat flattering to be throughly appreciated like this despite instinctively knowing it’s out of pure, utter objectification.

Aimlessly losing yourself in the middle of your straying thoughts, it’s the recurring shuffling of fabric carelessly being thrown onto the wooden, creaking floor that draws you back to the hazy reality before you. Fuck, a wet dream is a far more suitable term with how this is stereotypically playing out, the confident, sure movements of your older brother’s calloused hands busying themselves with the hem of his waistband and — oh, he’s surely tugging his sweats down, okay. His.. fucking dick, god — how didn’t you conveniently notice how rock hard his cock was beneath that cotton thin material? Leaving you to breathlessly gawk at the free view of Whitney’s drooling tip roughly smacking against the tensed muscles of his stomach, briefly connecting strings of pre-cum to meld with his cooling sweat. Retaking that relaxed, slouched position along the single bed as if he isn’t currently stark naked in front of your unmoving eyes. That distracting to you, huh? Horny mutt.

“Like what you see, slut?” That fucking conceited tone of his makes you want to respond with anything but an affirmative yes, though through the thick lump you swallow down your throat, it’s the muted nod of your head that further serves him to grin widely in satisfaction. Wanna prove him wrong so badly, so damn so. Yet, how can you when he’s shown you all the reasons not to?

Should’ve been paying closer attention then, baby brother. How your brain immediately shuts off in a haze of confusion, numbing static prickling at your empty mind once the blonde instead settles himself comfortably onto your awaiting lap. “Fuckin’ nice seat.” Would’ve been a more comedic remark if it weren’t for the provoking press of his bare ass flush against your pulsing cock, questionably twitching in approval from the brief physical contact. Christ, get a grip on yourself, you moron but, oh — Fuck. You could just.. fucking slip it in and it wouldn’t hurt to let Whitney take the lead as predicted, greedily relish in the slippery warmth fervently welcoming you? Since at the end of the day, you’re just a man, no? A simple man with stupidly horny urges and needs to gratefully sink his cock into the nearest wet hole that merely happens to be his big brother’s whorish one.

Still, that portion of your mind beckons you to reason along with the weirdly alluring pull of plainly muttering out fuck it, shove it in and— and, do the nastiest shit possible, y’know? Yeah, you should do it. Actually, no. No way in fucking hell should you proceed with it. Uselessly humping your hips upwards with a sickening jolt that draws a relieving sigh from the both of you. Stop it, you pervert. You’ve become no better than him, have you?

“W-What’re you doing..?” Is all you can pathetically muster to his blatantly obvious actions, knowing full well what he’s truly doing. Riling you up. Teasing along the edges of your withering limits till it collapses fully onto the ground. It’s what he does best, driving you insane on the daily from school, to outside, to home and his room you frequently pay visits to at night.

“What does it look like I’m doin’? I’m about to fuck your cute cock, pretty boy.” Pretty. Ah, that shouldn’t be your main focus with how he announces it so casually, essentially admitting he’s planning to ride you. Struggling to grasp onto the foreign concept of him, well— being on the receiving end of sex. Doesn’t he like, usually prefer to be the one in the dominant position? In fact, you wouldn’t have been surprised if he had selfishly decided to fuck your ass next, fill it to the brim with his seed. Yet, here he is, contently rubbing himself on your flushed, oozing tip, swearing gently as it barely grazes his puckered hole, thoughtlessly clenching around practically nothing. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m only doing this to stake my claim on you, alright? Not fuckin’ fair if some bitch gets to fuck your virgin dick first so, hah— I’m making you into a proper slut. My slut.”

Very convincing, Whitney. Not so much so when he’s shuddering eagerly above you like a man about to be given the slightest taste of heaven itself, namely your cock it seems. Hot. Shit, it is a pretty hot sight, you’ve gotta admit.

So, is this purely a flimsy excuse of his to fuck himself stupid on your dick? Need that much to blindly persuade you he isn’t some sort of drooling cockwhore deep down? Nice try, big brother. Well, you can effortlessly see through his nonchalant act, the barely discernible, rosy flush dusting along his cheeks confirming his secretive, depraved and filthy desires simmering deeply within his core.

“Fuckin’ — ah, help me put it in already.” The resounding gasp escaping him is so breathy, so unlike the dominant, assertive Whitney you’ve familiarized yourself with that your lethargic brain hardly registers his direct order, sounding more like a frantic plea than anything else. Put it in? The little, stuck-up bastard is having difficulty sliding it in, resorting to your aid to lend a helping hand to his futile struggles? That’s cute. The indiscernable trace of a smirk beginning to form onto your lips from his uncharacteristically submissive demeanour, still withholding a decent amount of control in this situation here. Ah, what’re you even saying? He’s given you full leverage to wreck his tight, little hole as you happily please, fuck yourself deeper in that wet warmth you’ve been subconsciously seeking out. You’re the one cupping him within the palm of your hand, oddly contented with this newfound revelation, this switch of power dynamics.

“Can’t you put it in yourself then. It’s not that hard, is it? You’re the one always wanting to everything so I think it’s only fair you do it.” Indulging in the scowl that appears shortly on his straining features only to dissolve under another one of his tough exteriors. “Fuck, you want me to? Can’t put it in yourself, huh?” He counters snidely, grasping for the bottle of lube conveniently placed on the night dresser nearby, accompanied by barking out a sharp huff of laughter as you cuss out loud a fuck! from the cooling, sticky mixture squirted plainly onto your cock.

“Shit! That’s cold! Why’d you pour it on me? Aren’t you supposed to put it in your— y’know? Your—“ Pausing bashfully in your tracks, immaturity running so deeply you couldn’t even properly stammer out the term if you wished to.

“My what? My ass? I’m not putting that in there, I can fuck myself on your cock just fine without that crap.” Lewd. That’s so lewd how he outwardly states it, blazing face hidden behind your cupped palms as though such a gesture would make this alright, make whatever he’s doing — smoothly grinding on the tip of your lubed, quivering length, how his hole teasingly snatches onto your flushed, leaking cock head only to disappointingly let go again. Fuck, fuck — Fuck. Doing this on purpose, isn’t he? Intent on driving you mad before he even manages to shove it in.

But, as previously stated before, there’s nothing you hate more than to lose, don’t you?

Really, he should be the one blaming himself for your rash and impulsive movements, shouldn’t be letting out that surprised yelp, silenced by a high-pitched gasp as you finally have had enough of his provoking mockery to mutter out a sharp fuck it and drive your increasingly impatient cock right in. Head stupidly thrown back in sheer shock from the unfamiliar yet admittedly pleasurable sensation of having his tight, virgin hole stuffed full of your cock right about now. Clear outline of your entire length pulsing deep within him by the noticeable quivering of his toned tummy, which you don’t hesitate to firmly plant your palm against to draw another satisfying, strangled whimper past his lips. Whore.

“Ah, fucking shit— You’re so fucking tight. Relax a bit for me or I can’t move.” Might as well be snapping your dick in half from the unbearable clenching of his unused insides, warm insides that you’re pervertedly staining white with every glide of your forceful thrusts, every harsh slam of your hips against his ass. Can’t stop yourself though — God, no. Not when the addictive heat of his hole envelops you so damn fucking well, rendering you both to mindlessly cling onto each other, entangled bodies slick with hot sweat trickling steadily down the navel of your arched backs. Namely his. And oh, he really does feel so good. Never mind all the shit he’s done, the stingy tugs of his fists deep within your messied hair, urging you to fuck yourself deeper into his trembling frame. This is the sweet taste of revenge you’ll so dearly savour, hungrily imprinting every choked moan to memory for later reminiscing.

Isn’t he so cute too? Tightening fingertips digging harshly into your shoulders for proper stability, an immediate roll of his eyes to the back of his skull whenever you angle your hips to hit that overly sensitive spot that sends a sickening jolt up his spine. Bound to be leaving marks, though that’s the least of your concerns with how goddamn pretty he looks when fucked stupid, fucked utterly brainless to match the feverish haze of his glazed over eyes. “See? I think you secretly enjoy it, Whitney. I think you— hah, fuck — enjoy that I’m taking the lead for once. ‘S that it? You like havin’ my cock inside you, huh? Like it when your little brother fucks you?” No matter how many times he may blatantly refuse and deny it, through the clawing of his nails, etching bloodied scars into your back that are sure to reside in your skin later on— You fucking know by the squeeze of his slutty hole, ring of cream having settled nicely around the base of your cock.

“F-Fuckin’—“ Big brother having trouble speaking? “Bastard, shut— ah! up!” The pitiful whine echoing deeply from his throat almost makes you want to cease your endless blabbering, but y’know what? Fuck that. May as well endure the severe consequences of his actions, from the second you had arrived here, it was bound to end solely in one conclusion. You, balls deep in his ass. You, stupidly drunk off the mere act of ruthlessly fucking your older brother cuz’ shit, does it feel so amazingly good. “If you keep looking at me like that, it only— hah, makes things harder for me here. God, Whitney.. Don’t fucking stop squeezing me, ‘kay?” Not really doing any better than him either, any semblance of control within you possibly thrown out the window with every pleasurable stroke of your cock being sucked so sloppily by his stretched out hole. One thing the delinquent was right about — You being the equivalent of a dumb mutt. A dumb, drooling mutt huffing over his bare chest, depraved instincts kicking in to suck on whatever happens to be nearest and that consequently leads to your dazed gaze zeroing in on his swollen nipples.

Pretty, so fucking pretty. It’s not fair.

Deserving of every torturous inch his tight hole greedily swallows up, the sight of his neglected, puffy nipples almost too much to bear for your watering mouth.

A little taste wouldn’t hurt, would it?

How careless of you to overlook such an area that so desperately needs your loving attention too. Bad little brother you are for that, huh? “Promise to make you feel so good.” Sighing out a guttural groan as the softened pad of your thumbs find home to idly flick at the erect glands, eliciting another strangled curse from the delinquent once again. Sensitive here, isn’t he? “Shit.. Every time I touch your tits here, you tighten up like crazy, hah. Want me to suck on ‘em too?” It’s more of a fervent heads up for your upcoming actions than a polite request, pink tongue curiously poking out to glide along the sheen of sweat settled thickly on the rosy buds. “M-Motherfucker.. Don’t you fuckin’ dare— hmph!” Hastily cut off by the palm of his own hand clasped upon his mouth, he can’t help but to cave in at your perverted antics, specifically that weird obsession of yours with his chest or tits as you so obscenely call ‘em. Shivering lightly at the rhythmic lapping at his nipples which is soon followed by the roll of your tongue against the sensitive flesh, fully latching onto on of them to appreciatively suckle on. The things you do to him, a full on body shock simply from having his pretty tits toyed with, his nipples coyly sucked on by the moist engulf of your warm mouth. “W—What?? Stop, ah, that!” How the fuck do you get to him like this every damn time?

And why the hell does it have to feel so fuckin’ good too?

Screw you, really.

Having managed to get past his carefully placed barriers he put upon himself, a means of protection for his fragile pride that you so selfishly tear away. Because it’s fun to, an absolute power rush to intently observe your slutty older brother fall apart on your fat cock, split his ass open while you’re at it. Teary eyes threatening to spill free more droplets down the length of his scarlet cheeks, bitten lips oozing fresh blood from your nipping teeth and tongue to gently suckle at as a well-deserved reward. Golden locks becoming increasingly more disheveled from every bounce on your cock, the guidance of your hands locked firmly onto his hips to witness the disappearance and reemergence of your leaking tip to reach that one single spot deep inside him.

And it’s real adorable when you draw your hips further only to be halted by the weight of his legs wrapped securely around your waist to prevent you from pulling all the way out, so stubbornly too. “Oh, want me to cum inside?” The derisive pitch of your laughter has the blonde simmering in his humiliating position, too caught up in the intoxicating pleasure of being fucked so mercilessly like this to bother uttering out a curse of denial. Fangs bared, seething glare shot solely towards you, its you. Of course, it’s you who has the final say, the upper hand regardless. As always. “I-I swear to fuckin’ god, if you pull out now— I’m going to fucking kill you, asshole.” He threatens as per usual, but the shaky incoherence of his speech riddled with whiny moans discredits his shitty attempt at intimidation, coaxing you to readily follow suit to his orders.

Ah, look at him. Fucking bitch in heat.

Can’t say no to that face, can you?

“Wasn’t planning on it anyway, Whitney.” You mutter out soothingly in the shell of his ear, slightly unsettled by the softening tone you’ve taken on to address him. Is it due to the pathetic appearance he’s took on from your relentless bullying? ‘S not fair he gets to look all cute and pouty while you’re struggling to keep up here, stuttering hips clumsily humping forward to make up for the messy pace because ah— fuck, you’re nearing your fill and so is Whitney, by the looks of it. “You can’t—“ Cutting himself off in a soundless gasp as your balls heavily smack against his ass, mind gone completely blank from the sheer euphoria of having his hole filled to the brim. Can’t? Sure, he can handle just a little more, can’t he? Cmon, he can do better than that. Drool dripping freely from his parted lips for yours to plant sloppy kisses against, stifling his open moans. Drawing your hips one last time to relish in the tight warmth of his wet insides— really, you’ll miss it, fuck— you barely get to process the thick ropes of cum spurting out of his bobbing cock, accompanied by your own climax shortly after. “S-Sorry, oh my god— I’m so sorry, you feel too good. I can’t—“ You sputter out uselessly, a hollow excuse when you continue on with your sloppy thrusts, burying yourself to the hilt to shoot your thick load into. Staining his walls white with your seed since your hips can’t stop themselves from fucking your cum deeper till the both of you tirelessly settle down in a heap of bodies on the creaking mattress.

Alright, so maybe you did end up going a tad bit too far this time, but it’s not like he didn’t ask for it. Or so you mumble to yourself to soothe your ever growing worries of where this may lead after the shortly lived, euphoric high you’ve just experienced. Nervously lifting your gaze to seek his as you’re greeted with.. ah, it seems you did fuck up. If anything, you’ve dug yourself a hole so steep you couldn’t possibly climb out of it now. Okay, he looks pissed. Doesn’t mean you don’t have time to mend things, right between the two of you, right? It’s as you finally muster up a foolish smile to meet his sour expression, that his frown significantly deepens in return.

“..So, uh. Did you like it?”

You’ve got a death wish, don’t you?

Should’ve probably expected this one. The shockingly loud slam of the wooden door closed shut on your face, promptly interrupting your frantic pleas and apologies. Heaps of dirty clothes thrown right into your arms for you to awkwardly pick up from the floor soon after. “Whitney, don’t be like that. Whitney, c’mon. I’m sorry—“ You’re not actually all that sorry, it’s just he looks too cute when angry, really.

“Fuck off!!”

Stubborn as ever, huh? At least, you’ve got to imprint those slutty sounds to memory for later use, having gotten your answer to leave him be for the time being. And oh, glancing down to be met with the sight of your still-hard, neglected cock tented pitifully against the front of your jeans. Seriously? Didn’t you just cum too?

..Well, you’ve always got the bathroom to take care of that.

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

Mean! Mommy Wanda edging you until you're a begging, crying, shaking mess. Her degrading you, and then edging you until you're crying from the denial of pleasure. She uses you to make herself cum, moaning at the way you desperately clench around her strap. Then she cuddles up next to you and falls asleep, leaving your hole throbbing and leaking as you cockwarm her, frustrated and denied like the good little toy you are.

[rodolfoparras]

Pillow talk

Pairing: FTM! Peter B. Parker x Top Male Reader

Synopsis: In which Peter, a married man, gets off to the thought of being with someone other than his spouse

Content tags: 18+, MINORS DNI, emotional infidelity, cheating kink, pillow humping, masturbation, oral sex, Peter has a size kink, Peter being a bit of a pervert

A/n: as always pls excuse any mistakes I tried a new writing style here, also if you want you can listen to More Than Friends by Isabel LaRosa while reading this since it’s heavily inspired by it!

A tired sigh escapes Peter’s lips as his bones bleed into the sheets. The window’s cracked ajar, allowing cold autumn air to mingle with the smell of MJ’s perfume that’s lingering around in the room.

He’s stripped down to nothing but his tattered pink robe, searing skin exposed to the chilly sensation emitting from his wedding ring as it trails along the length of his body.

For the first time in a while Peter’s gotten some time alone.

MJ has taken Mayday for the day and left so that Peter could have the house to himself, claiming he’d been pent up for a while and supposedly needed a break.

Peter hadn’t argued against it but had instead taken the offer with grace since it’s true that he has been feeling pent up but not for the reason MJ thinks. Peter’s sure that if she knew the reason behind his recent behaviors she wouldn’t be so willing to help him.

For the last couple of weeks Peter’s been plagued with the realization that he didn’t hate his neighbor, not his next door neighbor because that man is a menace and Peter’s pretty sure the hate’s mutual.

Instead he’s come to the realization that he didn’t hate his neighbor on the floor below him, that neighbor being you.

At first he was sure that he hated you since you made his spider senses tingle, well at least that’s what he thought it was.

He’d first met you at a neighborhood block party. You had recently moved in or so he had heard and were more than eager to get acquainted with the neighbors for whatever reason.

You were lounging around in a lawn chair when he had first arrived with MJ and Mayday.

The poor thing threatened to give out under your weight but you paid it no mind as you entertained a conversation with a neighbor and nourished a beer in your hand.

When you rose to greet him, Peter noticed that you were a whole head taller than him so it was no wonder that you made his spider senses tingle.

He tried his best to ignore you but even when he couldn’t see you, he could smell you since you wore this stupid cologne that smelled stronger than anything MJ’s ever worn before and because of that he could always tell when you were lingering around.

If he thought that smelling and seeing you was bad then touching you was something else.

He’d purposely opted out of a handshake when you first greeted each other but that didn’t save his spider sense from going into overdrive after having your knees knock together while you were sat at the same table or having your elbows brush against each other while scooping up leftovers.

However even though you made his spider sense go off, Peter had quickly realized that you weren’t a threat, at least not a dangerous one.

You were friendly and always made sure to spark up a conversation with him, even when you'd be in a rush to something.

You’d go out your way to bring him any of his mail or packages that happened to be misplaced.

Hell you'd even baby sat Mayday a handful of times so it was safe to say you weren’t a threat. But for whatever reason Peter couldn’t seem to get you out of his head.

Especially after hearing your ever so polite voice protruding through his thin bedroom walls, your dirty words squeezing between his and Mj’s hushed conversations. Or seeing the way you basically engulfed whoever was in your arms but unlike the lawn chair they seemed to thrive from being in your embrace. And escaping the smell of your cologne turned out to be a hard feat since every other day someone would be prancing around in one of your shirts dozed in the smell of it.

He doesn’t even remember when he started making sure that he’d be the one to pick Mayday up from your house, just to see whatever lounge wear you’d be prancing around in that day and the bit of skin that always seemed to show through it.

He doesn’t remember when he started hoping that the mailman would misplace yet another letter or package just so that he could feel your calloused fingertips brushing against his as you handed him something.

He doesn’t even remember when he started biting his tongue just so he wouldn’t ask you who he had seen standing outside your door the previous night.

He shouldn’t be feeling like this. He has MJ and he has Mayday and as far as he knows he’s happy. He’s just pent up, like MJ had said.

It’s not like Peter and MJ don’t have sex. It’s just that she doesn’t do it for him, at least not anymore.

Every time they get intimate he’d have to fake an orgasm or jerk off after she’d gone to bed. Lately he’s even had to pretend to be asleep every time she tried to initiate something because he simply wasn’t up for it.

So he’d find other ways to entertain himself and one of the ways being with inappropriate thoughts of his neighbor.

And things kind of escalate from there not in the literal sense since you’re so fucking polite, wont even look at him twice, keeping a respectful distance to a man who has a kid and a wife.

But God Peter wishes that you did, so much so he imagines you pinning him to the bed, hip to hip, chest to chest, those strong arms and thighs caging him into the mattress

The tattered robe wrapped around his frame doesn’t compare to the way your body would feel on top of his. But he keeps it on anyway, closes his eyes and pretends that the hand leisurely dragging across his limbs is your body pushing down onto his.

He imagines the way your lips would slot together, hot breath washing over his cheek as you whisper dirty words to him.

A thumb finds his lips, teasingly tugging and taunting at the bottom lip. It feels nothing like your calloused fingertips but his tongue peaks past his lips, tasting the salty skin before sinking down on it.

He imagines how you’d tease and taunt him in that polite voice of yours that managed to whisper such dirty words, how you’d mock him for wanting to be fucked like a bitch in heat despite the wedding band digging into his skin, maybe you’d force him to say it just so that he hears it from his own lips or so that the whole neighborhood can hear how desperate he is.

He imagines you straddling his waist grinding into him while wearing nothing but your boxers, teasing him to point where he’s soaking through his own pair of underwear.

A hand slides down his chest, blunt nails dragging down his happy trail, only to stop at the fringe of curls atop of his cunt, tugging and taunting til he’s all worked up.

He imagines your long fingers thrusting into him , or making him finger himself while wearing his wedding band, prepping himself to be fucked by someone other than his spouse.

And God he’s already so wet, fingers easily coating in his arousal as he trails them up his cunt, and in that very moment he can't help but think how MJ never gets him like this.

But his fingers are not enough- this little fantasy of his is not enough but you’re too good to do anything about it so he rolls onto his stomach before propping the pillow between his legs, pretending it’s your face.

He imagines the bed creaking under your shared weight, and the way the smell of your cologne would engulf his senses. He imagines the way your calloused fingertips would sink into the supple skin of his thighs and the way your ever so polite voice would sound as you command him to properly sit down.

He starts moving slowly, rolling his hips cautiously, imagining the way your tongue would experimentally delve through his folds.

The pillow slides in between his folds, coarse fabric creating a steady pressure onto his engorged numb, not enough to overwhelm his senses but enough to send jolts of pleasure coursing through his body every time he moves his hips.

He imagines you wanting to take your time with him wanting to taste him, tongue licking a strip along his cunt up to his puffy clit where you’d continue to tease him until he’s begging and urging you to hurry before someone can find the two of you like this.

But you wouldn’t listen to him, wouldn’t care if anyone were to find you like this, hand slapping his ass in warning before you continued to do as you pleased.

His hand cups the globe of his cheek, much like the way you’d do it if you were with him, except his fingers feel nothing like yours. But the cold sensation from his ring as it slaps his searing skin sends sparks of pleasure coursing through his entire body and for one second it almost feels like you’re actually there with him.

The coarse fabric of the pillow case reminds him so much of your stubble and it’s so wrong but feels so right - the thought of being fucked by someone other than his wife as huffs and pants escape his lips, hips moving faster as he wanders back to his fantasy.

He imagines you having him so worked up to the point where Peter’s long forgotten about the fact that someone can just walk in on you two because the bed’s creaking and he’s loudly begging and pleading for you to stop teasing.

Eventually you'd take pity on him, showing him mercy by properly latching onto his puffy clit, eagerly suckling on it before tonguing his hole.

He adjusts his hips, and the angle in which the pillow hits his clit changes slightly, and intensifies the sensation along with it.

“Oh- oh fuck!” He squeals out, toes curling as he throws his head back.

He imagines the way you’d easily have him teetering on the edge of his release with Peter begging and pleading for you to let him finish.

He can almost taste it, can hear the Squelching sounds mingling with the sound of needy noises escaping his lips. He can even smell his arousal: strong and heady, knowing he’s probably stained the pillow under him and will need to wash it before MJ comes back but for now he can’t find it in himself to care.

He’s so close, needs just a bit more -and that’s when he picks up on the sound of your footsteps walking up the stairs, smells the scent of your cologne bleeding into the air.

You must be on your way to his apartment to bring yet another misplaced package.

And Peter knows it’s wrong but it feels so right, feels himself tip over the edge as you read what’s written on the parcel, out loud

“To Peter B. Parker, please handle with care”

[t4tstarvingdog]

*transmasc meaning anyone for whom these things are applicable or desired

for our purposes, top surgery is having breasts removed and bottom surgery is any configuration of hysterectomy and / or getting a penis

feel free to reblog and explain your reasons in the tags, this is something that really intrigues me :) happy transsexuality!

[ash-rigby]

LEFTIST SNOWFLAKE CREEPYPASTAS 😱

GENDER man 😂

2. Jeff(ina) the killHER 👩🏻🔪

3. smile dog (puppy play they/them 🐶)

4. the BOTTOM SURGERY rooms 👀

[starryjoy]

Actual, important conversations about comp-top/comp-bottom: just because you have a specific body type and have been told all your life, whether directly or indirectly, to fit in a specific role, doesn't mean that it is the one that you have to fit into! If you see that the thought of sex in these roles feels more like homework than pleasure, then maybe try exploring other roles! It's totally fine if you end up preferring what you originally thought :)

Posts I see on this cursed website once every two weeks by people who claim to be transfeminists: so many trans women are too STUPID to know that they actually prefer bottoming to topping, so if your trans girlfriend tells you she wants to top you should instead forcefully top her instead! #ally

[arsenicflame]

Edward "human weighted blanket" Teach & Izzy "crush my soul out of my body" Hands

[doctordbd]

Power struggle pt. 2

Since you guys wanted it so much I present to you power struggle. This is just the after math of what happened after part one, i actually don’t recommend reading the first one since it was so bad and that was more of a self indulgence for me. I was questioning my sexuality and gender at the time (lol) but if you want to read it it’s right here (I might delete the first one later and redo it)

: pt. 1

Warnings: belly bulge, sub frank, dom reader, hints of sexual favors, top reader, no pronouns used for reader but they have a ding dong, dumbifaction, Dacryphilia because Frank is a cry baby. Frank having a sexual crisis, public sex sort of, almost getting caught, drool, gapping. Cream pie, no proper after care, a lil bit of Dwight x reader?? 🤨 obvious NSFW below the line

﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊

“Guhh!” The feeling of sweat ran down Frank’s neck, his body was hot. The smell of sex clinging onto his body like a deep cologne. His face flushed as he hid it in a pillow that occupied the bare bed in the house that sat at the top of the cold wind farm map. Body shaking as he tried to mimic the feeling of having something fill him. Inexperienced fingers working to find his sweet spot all the while lazily stroking his cock.

Frank didn’t know what was happening to him. After that trial with.. you, he hasn’t been able to do anything normally. The thought of you and the thought of you inside of him was taking over every waking moment. Making out with Julie has even become weird as he had never been on the submissive side before and now with this new found kink he doesn’t know if he wants to stop.

It was one time but ever since then he hasn’t been able to look you in the eye. Frank wasn’t clear if it was out of pride or embarrassment but he couldn’t bear to face you for a long time. Hell, he couldn’t even look at his teams face for a while, the thought of telling them or them seeing him in such a state haunted him.

That was why he was in cold wind, before Frank wasn’t scared to jerk one off in one of the rooms in Ormand. It was their sanctuary after all. Their place of rest. But now it drove Frank mad worrying someone might catch him touching himself in such a way. At least here he would be provided a little more privacy knowing rarely anyone comes up here.

The problem for privacy was solved, the main problem now is why is his orgasm taking so long? His slender fingers were all he thought he needed to get the job done, but it wasn’t working. It wasn’t you. The excessive spit that he used for a makeshift lube leaked out of his hole as he hopelessly tried to find the certain bundle of nerves that would have him seeing stars.

Frank choked out a sob, letting tears fall down his blotched face, growing frustrated at his feeble attempts of getting off. He tried to picture you doing it to him. Your hands on his chest, playing with his sensitive nipples. Your tongue tracing over the bite marks you would litter his body with. Frank shivered at the thought.

He wanted you to ruin him.

After a while of no progress and the constant thrust of his fingers started to hurt he pulled out. His walls clenching around nothing hoping for something to fill it.

Frank weakly sat up from the pillow, a grimace look found it’s way on his face as he saw how much droll and tears he left on it. He truly is pathetic, whining and crying for God knows how long for a person who fucked him just out of hatred and spite.

He wanted to hate you for it, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know what to do.

He flipped the pillow, using the dry side to wipe the spit that slid down his digits.

Pulling his pants up and placing his mask back on his face he walked out of the Thompson residents, stumbling a little after having toyed with his now sore hole for what he could guess was for hours. Hands in his pocket as he planned on what to do next. But one thing was for certain, he needed to see you.

Frank leant on a tree just outside of the survivors camp. There were too many damn cabins to tell which one was yours. Hoping to catch you leave the food hall as it seems all the survivors just finished eating and were making their way back to their individual cabins.

And that’s when he saw you. Did you get a new cosmetic? Because it seems there was something different about you today. You carried yourself with your head held high as you chatted with your fellow survivors. It irked Frank knowing his and your interaction made you that way.

He couldn’t help but also notice your ensemble; a military green shirt that warped tightly around your frame, him taking note of how good of a job it did showing your muscles. The dog tags bouncing up and down everytime you took a confident stride. Along with the army greens tactical pants and black combat boots to match.

You truly were a sight to see as Frank had caught himself staring just a little too long, too hypnotized by your strong arms that were littered with scars. Your hand that held flashlight with great strength.

With a painful punch to his chest he tried to collect himself. He needed to focus. But it was so hard when it came to you, evidence being he was becoming completely undone just by looking at you.

At this point you had seemingly said your goodbyes and was making your way to your cabin. The group you were with one by one slipped away into their own cabins leaving you the only one left. It was quite a ways to go to get to yours. You walked for a bit longer before hearing a singular “hey”. You turned around fully expecting to see one of your friends coming back to tell you something, but you quickly realized that the sound was coming from the thick wood that circled the camp.

It wasn’t the first time Danny or even Trickster would come over and try to scare you guys. So you were quite surprised to see the one and only Frank Morrison whispering to you through some bushes. Him obviously not wanting to be seen as he hid some of his body behind a tree.

It had been a while since you had talked with Frank and you couldn’t really blame him, the shame one would feel being completely plowed by someone that is supposed to be lesser then them would be unimaginable. A smirk had a way onto your face as you remembered the trial, truth be told it has been on your mind a lot too.

“Didn’t think I’d hear from you again, Frank.” you start, eyes musing on his mask that was slightly off his face revealing the visibly hate filled expression.

Frank gritted his teeth, he wanted to say something, anything, but his tongue suddenly felt too big for his throat. You tilted your head in confusion.

“You’re the one who called me over here, and yet you have nothing to say.” You crossed your arms as you waited patiently for an answer.

“If you’re worried I’ve told someone, don’t worry I didn’t. Wouldn’t want to hurt your killer rep, now would I?” You said in a fake concerned tone. A tone the Frank couldn’t stand. He hung his head low trying to figure out what to say.

After a few more moments of uncomfortable silence you decide to start heading back to your cabin, walking away from the flustered killer. Frank panicking knowing this might be his last chance getting to see you alone.

“Wait!” He whisper yelled you stopped in your tracks yet again. Turning your head towards the killer, a bored expression dressed your face as you were in no mood to play games.

Frank looked around one last time before extending his arm out to you. You looked at his hand and back to his face, he must’ve been out of his mind if he thought you’d follow him into the deep, dark wood.

In the camp you were safe, secure. Out there he could do almost anything to you under the entity’s rule. Yet, momma always did say that your curiosity would get the better of you one day. With a huff of disbelief mostly aimed at yourself, you took his hand. The familiar burn of power gracing your senses. Whatever gave you power that trial was definitely back and ready for seconds.

Frank must’ve felt it too, tugging your arm not in a demanding way, but in an almost servile way. Like you were in control and he was merely moving you along, like a child would do to their parent, rushing them along to get to their desired destination.

Reluctantly, you followed the young killer to wherever he wanted to take you, his eyes foward and his mouth shut, you decide to do the same thing as the walk there was dead quiet. The only noise being the twigs that snapped under your feet.

You make note of how far you walked from the camp, whatever he wanted to do he wanted to do privately.

All of a sudden, Frank stops in his tracks, you being unaware of the action knocking into him. Regaining your balance you apologize, only for Frank to grab you by your shirt and shove you against a tree, pulling you into a deep kiss.

The kiss itself was enough to make you throw him off of you but you noticed how his body reacted to the kiss, the hands that he used to shove you into the tree were now clawing at the fabric of the sleeves. His legs buckled and were seemingly about to give out. You gingerly grabbing his waist to help him as he leaned more into you. Exploring your mouth as he let out whorish moans, like you were the most addicting drug, he was craving more of you.

With a paining groan Frank detached his lips from yours, a string of saliva connecting you two.

Heavy breaths filled the air, your head leaning back against the tree eyes closed in bliss, been a while since you’ve last had this.

You opened your eyes and looked down at the quivering male, his once hate filled eyes now completely blown out and filled with lust. Tear collecting at the corners. Was he about to cry?

The sight itself made you groan, using the grip on his hips to bring them closer to yours. Roughly grinding against him as if you were in rut. Frank welcoming it with open arms as wrapped his arms around your neck, hiding his face in your shirt, his drooling problem coming back into light as he was quick to cover your shirt collar in saliva.

Holy shit did that turn you on

You used your strength to turn him over. Now he was pinned against the tree and your chest was to his back, not allowing much room for him, but yet again that was the point. Shoving past his belt of faulty bullets you ran your hand along side his leaking shaft. Frank bucking his hips to try and gain friction from your hand that you kept pulling away. Just enough were he was aching for your touch but enough were he could still feel you touch him.

His face was now in his elbow as he let out loud huffs of frustration from your teasing. A part of him just wanted to push you over and ride you in the middle of the forest. So he can finally itch the scratch you’ve left that trial. But he wanted this even more. He wanted your hands on him, the hands that would make his skin feel on fire every time you touched, squeezed and prodded at him. He wanted your face close to his like it is now. Whispering at him. Calling him a whore, a slut, your slut.

He wanted all of you and more, so he complied with your teasing. As much as it pained him to, deep down he really loved it.

Frank let out a strangled cry as you finally wrapped your large hand around his cock. His precum providing a good lube as you wasted no time moving your hand up and down his shaft. His legs buckled under him as you set a brutal pace with your hand. Frank bucking in your hands slightly, but enough for you notice and coo at him.

His face was hot even though his mask was long tossed away and forgotten. Your words making him even more flustered then he already was, if that was possible. 

The tightening feeling in his stomach made him let out an embarrassingly loud and pitiful moan. Something he would be embarrassed about later but not right now. Right now he was savoring the feeling of his rapidly approaching orgasm. 

You felt the thrusts in your hand speed up, slopping and uneven. He was fucking himself with your hand, your dick reacting with an excited twitch that Frank felt on his backside. Groaning at the friction while rolling his eyes to the back of his skull. He gave a final thrust before he released all over your hand and landing some on the tree in front of him. Pumping your hand a few times to help him ride out his orgasm.

After a while, Frank started to jerk away from your hand. You find it cute as his face contorts back and forth from blissed to overstimulated. Finally letting go of his cock, you bring your hand up to his face for him and you to see the glistening hot liquid seep down your fingers. He tried to turn his head but you were quick to grab his jaw and turn his head back to his mess.

“Don’t be embarrassed to look at the mess you’ve made.”

Frank groaned at your words. feeling you release his jaw and used your clean hand to shove his pants down even more along with his boxers, gripping at the firm mounds before stepping back and crouching down. pulling his hips towards you so he was now bent over. Franks hands still clinging onto the tree.

“W-what are you doin -NGH- ah!”

Frank tried to talk but was quickly silenced by you spreading his ass open and using Frank’s -now cold- load to trace around his rim. You had fun running your finger over the bumpy skin while listening to Frank trying to keep himself quiet. All the while trying to stand on his on two feet without your help. It was a real challenge not to just fall down on the moist forest floor and have you take him there. But he pushed through, or so he thought when you abruptly shoved two fingers into his hole. Franks back arched while his fingers dug into the tree bark, hanging on for dear life as his legs were now jelly.

the lewd shlick sounds made Frank whine as you teased around his sweet bundle of nerves, you knew where it was but you purposely ignored it, it made Frank look back at you with a weak scowl. You on the other hand watch with pure fascination at how eager his hole was. swallowing your fingers with such need to be filled, it nearly made you drool.

You knew his orgasm was coming when his long flustered moans turned to high pitched broken ones. Frank trying his best to hide it but failing miserably.

Your goal wasn’t to get another orgasm out of him but to prepare him for you. so you took your fingers out at a painfully slow pace. Watching as his hole clench around nothing. Only god knows how much you want to ruin this man.

You sit up and finally unzip your pants. Haven grown unbearably tight since the moment his lips touched yours. Freeing your cock out of it’s confining prison. Standing proud and tall, with your aching tip producing a hefty amount of precum. with a sigh of relief you began stroking yourself, smearing your pre all over your cock. Running your thumb over the slit a couple of times.

With a few more strokes you let it go and let it fall on Franks backside, Frank moaning at the hot and heavy mass on his back, feeling you move back and forth leaving a gorgeous trail of your semen on his back. After a few pleas and whines from Frank to quit your teasing, you eventually grab ahold of your throbbing member and align it to his hole. Pushing in at a slow speed, making Frank groan.

“S-stop fuckin teasIN. And just put it in already-”

With a huff you pushed the rest in, bottoming out fully. Setting a brutal pace as you forced his hips to yours at every thrust. Frank letting out a shrill cry that would wake any forest animal if the entity’s realm had any. The sheer power you had over him made Frank lightheaded. After ignoring you- ignoring himself for so long he finally had you. He finally felt content with himself. That itch was finally being scratched. 

Franks constant nagging was getting on your last nerve, so you were pleased to see he had his face in his elbow. Letting out a short moan every time you thrusted into him. Tears threaten to spill at the cover of his eyes, Frank was in total bliss. Havin being filled once more by you was a dream come-

“Are you sure you saw them go this way”

Frank froze, supposedly you too, as your thrusts slowed down, but not entirely stopping. There were people in the words.

People looking for you two.

“I’m sure Cheryl, Frank took them somewhere around here.”

Of course.

Dwight and Cheryl.

Frank would be glaring at them and run them off if you weren’t balls deep inside of him. If you two get caught what would happen to him? What would happen if the other killers found out? When they find out that a killer already constantly looked down upon gets caught getting his guts rearranged by a survivor? The one thing in this God forsaken world he’s supposed to hunt, torture, and kill? Everything that he’s worked hard to get will be in shambles. He is putting himself and his team at risk, so why did he do it?

Because it feels so good.

The tears that threaten to fall earlier quickly decide to finally spill past his eyes. He wasn’t in the right state of mind to do anything else so he did the only thing he could do at the moment, and that was to cry. You rip your eyes from the two curious survivors and back at Frank, this is the first time in your life that you wished Dwight wasn’t such a good friend.

So you snaked one of your hands that were previously grabbing his hips and covered his quivering mouth as you started to thrust your hips at a much faster pace. Frank moaning at the returning pleasure. His eyes foggy but not leaving the two people walking dangerously close to were they were. You saw Frank look back at you with pleading eyes. Those eyes, those eyes did nothing but make you want to fuck him even more. You lean down next to his ear and say:

: You -huff- don’t want to get caught right? Then I’m gonna need ya to -huff- stay quiet for me ok? Can’t have all your friends know what -huff- you do in your free time.” 

You watched as his reaction changed from pleading to absolute mess. Tears now streaming down his face and drool seeped through your fingers as your ruthless pace never faltered, your free hand now on his cock. Stroking it with the same speed you were fucking him in.

You had no intent on stopping till you were finished and satisfied. The two of you getting caught would be a minor inconvenience for you but you knew the fear Frank must feel right about now, You could’ve stopped but, at the end of the day it didn’t seem like Frank wanted you to stop all that much. You were in full control of this moment, it was your choice were this was going to go. 

This is the type of power that you’ve heard about that most grow drunken on.

You’ve made up your mind and continued to thrust into him. Your hand doing everything in its power to keep Frank’s noises in. As it seems like he picked this time to babble and moan the loudest.

You listen with open ears as you heard Dwight and Cheryl’s footsteps shuffle away, relief washing over the both of you. Or what was once relief now panic when one of your thrusts hit his special spot. The one leaving him seeing white. The one spot that made Frank let out a high-pitched moan the surpassed your hands and out onto Dwight’s careful ears, turning around momentarily. 

“Did you hear that?”

Frank didn’t know what did it, maybe it was the fact that he was moments away from being caught, and the fear of being caught excited him. Or the way your length stretched him out to the point it felt like you were fucking his brain, his hand on his stomach right over the noticeable bulge that would come to rearrange his insides one thrust at a time. Or maybe it was you, your large body pressed against his, as you work to pleasure him and yourself. Going the extra mile as to cover his mouth for him for his was too shaky to actually do anything. Whatever the reason it was enough to finally tip the scale. Frank shaking under you a -little more harshly this time-  before at last cumming all over your hand. His hips didn’t know either to buck into your hand or onto your cock. So he did a sloppy version of both. Legs shaking as his juices leaked from your hand and onto the ground, riding out his delicious high. 

You couldn’t really focus much on him because you watch with careful eyes as you see Dwight look around one last time before turning around and walking the opposite way.

“You’re definitely just hearing things, just like how your just seeing things. Besides what would [name] be doing with Frank anyway?” Cheryl said.

“*sigh maybe your right, I just.. I don’t know, I guess I’m just seeing things” Dwight said putting his hand on his head, his face a little flushed. Something Cheryl picked up on quickly.

The two survivors finally walking away finally leaving you and Frank to your own devices. You watched as they finally disappeared behind the tree line. Releasing your hand from Franks mouth, you looked down. Frank was immobile, cheek pressed against the rough tree bark and hands lightly pressed against the tree as well. Weak butchered moans left his mouth every time you thrusted into him.

He was a sight indeed, the very thing you needed to see to get you going again. Putting your hands back on his hips you used his body to get yourself off. Throwing your head back as his walls clamped around you, his walls shaped just for you and you only. He did come to you after all, he wanted you again, he wanted to be filled with you again. The thought threw you over the edge, your hips meeting as you burrowed yourself in him. emptying yourself into his warm hole. Frank letting out a long groan at the feeling of being full of your seed. You can tell it was too much for him to take as some of your semen escaped out of his hole. Droplets hitting the ground.

After a while you pull out, taking a step back to look at the mess you’ve made. The lack of support caught up with Frank as he slid down the tree and onto the forest floor. A firm reminder of the first night you had together. 

His gapping hole was your best work, Frank’s ass covered and dripping in your cum. As well as the red hand marks on his hips, a telltale sign of your former roughness. Marks that -if you weren’t in the entity’s realm- would definitely bruise later. 

And his face, his face was the embodiment of sexual bliss. Being satisfied to the point where one would pass out. It was almost endearing. But you had no plans but to be nothing more then just fuck buddies. Maybe sex for your life? it seemed like a fair deal. If he didn’t agree there was always blackmail, but you had a feeling he would agree. So with your last remaining strength you wrench his pants back over his waist. Picking up his mask and pulling it back over his face, moving the strands of dirty hair off his sweaty forehead. 

After that you pick him up and walk him over to a new area one where there wasn’t any semen on the trees. He reeked of sex and so did you so you took his jacket off and laid it next to him. Maybe that’ll air him out. You thought your plan was flawless till you saw a wet patch around his butt area.

Fuck

You totally forgot about the total cream pie you gave this guy about 20 minutes prior. You quickly took the jacket and put it over his lap. Maybe he’ll take that as a warning to walk around with caution.

You got up from your knees and dusted them off. Putting your hands on your hips while you look down at Frank. 

‘Funny how time repeats itself huh?’

You let out a snicker, Fixing up the best you can without really being able to see yourself. Buckling your pants to finish, you began to walk away from Frank. Before he called you into the woods you really had no plans, but now you were feeling rather drained, so now you were going to sleep good tonight. 

That’s what you thought before a singular crow landed on your shoulder. Looking right into your eyes with its beady little ones. You let out a little chuckle before letting the fog consume you. 

——————————

“I’m sorry for dragging you out into the woods off only a hallucination.” Dwight apologizes. His fingers fiddling with each other, head held low. They were nearly to the camp as the smoke from the fire can be seen close up ahead.

Cheryl looked back at him with a friendly smile.

“It’s no worries, you thought you saw someone you care about going into the forest with some killer. Your a good friend, Dwight.” She reassures.

Putting a hand on his shoulder her friendly smile quickly turned into a teasing smirk.

“But thinkin about Y/n so much to the point that your seeing them everywhere is quite suspicious don’t change think hm? Are we gonna talk about that? Why are they on your mind so much Dwight~?”

Dwight’s face flushed at the assumption. Pushing her away and covering his face.

“No, no! it’s not like that! W-we’re just friends!”

“Sure, sure you can lie to yourself all you want but I know the truth.” Cheryl teased, Dwight letting out an embarrassed groan, opening his fingers slightly. Peering off onto the vast forest. You two were merely just friends..

Right?

﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊

AN:

So I sense some Dwight x reader chemistry?🤔 maybe, maybe not. You will never know. Have a good day/evening/night guys love you 🖤 might get another fic today if not today then definitely tomorrow

Edit: Im still editing this even tho I already published it. Im so bad at this. I need to reread my fics more often and not just when I finish uploading them

[1pcii]

brainstorming zoluko dynamics

[bisexualmajima56]

I don’t mind top Majima/bottom Kiryu but it’s also really hilarious to me because the visual of it in my head is a chihuahua trying to breed a pit bull.

[flywolfwriting]

Beyond the Path of Reason

The worst part about molting was the itching. It was terrible while his wings were out, but when they were tucked away the itching spread to his skin, like the molt needed to manifest itself physically in one way or another. Lucifer often left his molt until he couldn’t bear it anymore, too overwhelmed by the task to force himself to face it until the alternative was worse.

The truth was he hated looking at his wings. They were a constant reminder of heaven, of his fall; once pure white, they were now stained with the blood of the first sinner. He still remembered that day clearly, when some of his elder siblings had come to fetch him and Lucer thought he’d been forgiven, that he could come home - but instead they pinned him to the ground and soaked him in Abel’s blood and the stains had never truly come out. That first molt he thought he would finally be rid of it but he was wrong - some of his white plumage returned, but only along the lesser coverts, and the tenth primaries. The rest of his feathers grew in that brilliant, terrible red, as vivid as the day he’d seen it spilled upon the ground.

For a long time Lilith was there to help him, and he could just squeeze his eyes shut while she preened for him. The last couple centuries, however - since Charlie had been born - he’d been left on his own. He’d eventually gotten used to looking at them, of course; how couldn’t he when he’d lived so long? He’d even mastered pretending it was fine and his wings didn’t bother him one bit! He could even show them off; See? Look and big and awe-inspiring my wings are!

But that’s all they were. Tools. And later, when he was alone, Lucifer would close his eyes and try to forget the image of Abel sprawled across the ground, head smashed in, until the Angels of God used his blood to tarnish the Morning Star’s plumage.

God’s favored indeed.

Now he was living at the hotel, surrounded by sinners he could call friends, with his daughter and her own fallen angel at her side. He could almost forget how much he hated himself with them around.

Almost.

Lucifer’s quarters were big; bigger than they had any right to be, really, but he didn’t need to leave them for anything if he didn’t need to. He had a large, luxurious bathroom, a large sitting room, a small kitchen, and of course an opulent bedroom that served more as a workroom than actual sleeping quarters.

That was where he was now, having told his daughter he would be gone for a few days working on ‘business’ but would be back by next week. She’d given him a timid smile and soft, “Okay,” and he knew she wondered if he would be back at all.

It was a crushing reminder of just how awful a person he was.

He heard a swell of laughter in the distance and peeked out his window to see the hotel’s residents descending the hill as a group, heading into town for one thing or another.

Lucifer scratched at his shoulder as he watched them go. He could probably afford to pop down to the bar and snag a bottle of something to help take the edge off when he finally got around to getting his wings out. Not that sinners’ alcohol really did much for him.

Mistake.

Alastor stood by the bar, hands propped on his newly repaired microphone, silently watching as Lucifer stepped through the portal. Lucifer froze, briefly considering turning around and facing the week without the solace of alcohol. He couldn’t be seen to be fleeing the Radio Demon, though, no matter how much his skin itched, so he straightened his shoulders and marched behind the bar without acknowledging the sinner.

It seemed for several blissful minutes that Alastor would offer him the same courtesy, even if he was openly staring at Lucifer. That hope was dashed when, holding several bottles of hard liquor, Lucifer returned to his still-open portal. Before he could step through that oh-so-pompous voice said, “My, my, Your Majesty, you have quite the selection there. Planning on throwing a party?”

Don’t take the bait, don’t take the bait, don’t take the bait- Lucifer turned and glared at him. “If I was, I wouldn’t be inviting you.”

Alastor’s grin widened by a fraction. “And who would you invite, sire? Not your daughter, clearly. I wonder how she would feel, knowing you waited until everyone left to have your friends over.”

“You little shit,” Lucifer said.

“The alternative is all those bottles are for you. But wait! Didn’t you tell our dear Charlie you would be away on business?” Red eyes narrowed. “If it turned out that business was drinking half the bar, that would be quite pathetic, don’t you agree?”

Lucifer grit his teeth, resisting the urge to snap back. He had too much on his mind, was too twisted up in his own anxiety and depression to worry about an asshole sinner. He turned away.

“Oh dear. You appear to be bleeding.”

Lucifer stopped again, this time looking at the demon in confusion. “What?”

Alastor’s brows rose as his head cocked to the side. “Your neck is bleeding. And it appears some sort of beast has been at your arms.”

Looking down Lucifer saw inflamed golden scratches criss-crossing his forearms, and something warm dripped down his spine. He swore quietly. He hadn’t realized he’d been scratching so much.

“You appear to be in distress, Your Highness.”

“What do you care?” Lucifer snapped, nearly dropping several bottles as he shifted in an attempt to stop himself digging his nails into his arms again. The pressure in his back grew worse with his agitation, his wings insistently pushing against the ether in which they were currently trapped.

“Perhaps I am merely curious what could cause someone of your status such concern,” Alastor said airily, “especially if you’re willing to lie to sweet Charlie to hide away so pitifully.”

“Leave Charlie out of th- ah!” Lucifer’s words broke off in a choked cry as his wings exploded from his back, somehow relieving the pressure and worsening everything all at once.

Oh. Oh no. He had let it go too long; it was the worst he could remember it ever being, a feeling like a million spiders skittering over every part of him, digging their little pincers into his skin, burrowing in his feathers-

He shuddered, biting back a whine.

“Oh dear,” Alastor hummed, and when Lucifer forced himself to open his eyes again he found the demon staring at his wings with clear interest. “You are a mess.”

Continue on AO3

[crimsongrimoire]

masochist wrio is real. To Me.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

set construction timelapse from guthrie theater's instagram:

Watch as the Wurtele Thrust Stage transforms into Skid Row, home of Mushnik's Flower Shop, and join us for LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS, onstage June 22 – August 18. See You Downtown → Link in Bio Scenic Design by Lex Liang

[heyfoxprince]

Can we drag this out and never quit?