#intercrural

[truly-morgan]

Fandom: 人渣反派自救系统 - 墨香铜臭 | The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù Rating: Explicit Relationships: Mòběi-jūn/Shàng Qīnghuá Additional Tags: Kinktober 2022, Intercrural Sex, Fluff and Smut, Lazy Sex, Intimacy Chapters: 1/1 [900 words] Series: Part 17 of Kinktober 2022

Summary:

”Shang Qinghua is tired from all his work, but he still wants to have some intimate and pleasurable times with his demon husband. They find a way to do something they would both enjoy without putting too much stress on his tired body.”

[dangergrandpa]

AO3 link: Here

Rating: E for Explicit just in case~

Characters: Micah/Shaddox

Tags: glowing cum, wing kinketry, intercrural sex (thigh fucking), bath sex

Summary: Micah has some fun with Shaddox in a bath. That's it.

Kinktober prompt list from @the-purity-pen!

"Shads - don't, you aren't gonna fit! Shaddox, you arse-'' Despite himself, Micah was laughing. The corrupted angel had shoved open the door, lifted him clean out the bath and gotten in as well. Now he was sitting with him on his lap, nuzzling into his neck with a deep gravelly purr.

"We fit fine, see?" He kissed his shoulder gently. Micah giggled and reached a hand back, stroking his cheek.

"So it seems…" He sat forward, giving his wings room to spread and curl around to Shaddox's own. "Gotcha!" Dark blue twined into white and the angel tugged carefully, testing his mate's grip. Firm and strong; there was no chance of him extracting his wings from this hold. He chuckled and relaxed in response, letting Micah hold him. His arms wrapped around the slender mortal’s waist.

"Indeed… Now what do you intend with me, nephalem?" 

“Maybe I’ll keep you captive here and make sure you relax,” the younger man cooed, chuckling at the huff of annoyance. 

“I relax plenty,” the angel grumbled in return, hugging him a little tighter. He tried to pull his wings away, and the angelic nephalem pulled them back, carefully pulling the pale strands around himself and drawing a chuckle from his partner. They tussled like that for a few minutes. It was all teasing, just innocent play… until Micah squeezed. Shaddox's surprised groan was low in tone, nearly subsonic as it combined with a rough growl at the end. He brushed the tips of his fingers over pale skin and the nephalem squirmed, a pinging note of laughter escaping. “Mi-cah-”

"Nope, not letting go!” He tugged the angel’s wings again and pushed back into his mate’s chest, tilting his head up to kiss his neck. “What should I do with you, though?" The angelic mortal was grinning. He shifted, grinding his hips down and feeling the fingers on his sides grip more firmly.

"Tease!" Shaddox gasped out, hearing a ringing laugh. Micah's voice was pure music to him, both in its mortal and angelic tones.

"Sure, if you want me to." White filaments wrapped back around blue tightly, tangling their wings together and stimulating them at the same time. The corrupted angel growled and rocked up, grinding against his backside and pushing himself up. Micah gasped in kind, going rigid when his partner tugged firmly and guided him up onto his knees. "Sh-Shaddox…?" 

"Lean down, you little tease," Shaddox purred breathlessly, "and grab hold of the bath." Micah did as he was told, glancing back over his shoulder while his hands took a firm hold of the edge of the tub. His mate offered a reassuring wing flutter. He felt the angel's substantial weight over him, shivering when sharp teeth scraped over his shoulder. Shaddox kissed his neck and braced himself over his back. "Beautiful. I am blessed to have you." 

“And I’m very lucky to have you, too.” Micah smiled over his shoulder, shuffling his knees apart.

The angel shook his head and stopped Micah from spreading his legs with a hand, grabbing a bottle of oil from a table set up nearby. The nephalem watched him with characteristic interest, tilting his head silently in question when the substance was immediately dribbled over the angel’s length. 

“Hmm… You don’t want me spread for you? Not slicking me up this time?” 

“No need,” his partner replied absently, and tangled one hand in a bundle of blue filaments. Tugging in just the right way to make him give a delicious sounding moan and slump against the bath. Wings dropped to either side, curling around each other in the water.

“Then… why…” 

“Because,” Shaddox purred, pressing between draped filaments and widening his stance to press his length slowly between Micah's legs. “I want to fuck your pretty thighs today.” 

White filaments squeezed rhythmically as he began to rock, savouring the feeling of soft, smooth skin either side of his length. The nephalem sighed, twitching when he brushed against his length on his thrust forward. The angel smiled against his mate's neck and pushed his thighs closer together, bathwater sloshing as he took his time. A little higher, a little faster, and Micah sighed again in pleasure. Shaddox's length moved back and forth against his own, heightening the arousal stimulated wings provided. 

"Shad… dox…" The nephalem gripped at the edge of the bath tightly, pressing his forehead to the cool metal. “Gods…” This was a new experience for him and he found himself extremely aroused by the lewd noise of oiled flesh on flesh between his legs. Micah lowered one hand, catching the head of his mate’s cock with his palm, and smirked when the angel snarled quietly. “Good?”

“Mmhm…!” Shaddox thrust that little bit harder, twisting himself as he did when he really got into it, and ground into the hand. Pulling back left strings of precum on the nephalem’s palm, and the sight of it over Micah’s shoulder only encouraged him to do it again. “Tighter,” he insisted, and let out a delighted moan when he was squeezed the next time. “Yes, like that…”

Micah hummed happily, squeezing his legs closed tightly and feeling his angel’s pace stutter until it was uncoordinated rutting, the feeling of being pinned under Shaddox enough to make his heart race. His breath caught when his partner shifted his grip, the bigger angel - corrupted, near silent thoughts reminded him, and dangerous - sliding one hand up from his waist to his shoulder and pulling him back against a heaving, scarred chest. Some filaments wrapped around his own length and stroked him, making the angelic nephalem gasp in air and grip the tub to ground himself, his knuckles white. 

“Sh-Shaddox…” A final grind between his thighs was all that was needed for him to feel warmth splatter down his legs, rivulets running down to the water and becoming glowing white patterns that were quickly distorted. Fingers dug into his shoulder and he was pulled upright, Shaddox burying his face in his neck. “Shads?”

“Love,” he responded, muffled, sated and tired. 

“Please, dear.” The nephalem purred to him, rocking into his hand, and he chuckled breathlessly. 

“Ah. Forgive me.” 

He continued stroking until the slim mortal released with a quiet moan over his fingers, sweeping the appendage through the water to wash it off. Micah clung to his arm, kissing the side of his head; the affection coaxed him to lift his head, eyes a duller red now, and he accepted a sweet kiss happily. 

“... I think we need… another bath,” the nephalem giggled, and Shaddox purred deeply as he untangled their wings. 

“Mmhm…” He tugged the plug out after a minute more of holding his mortal partner, letting the bath drain, and Micah took the chance to get out on unsteady legs. “Hardly worth getting out if we just need to get back in,” the angel pointed out, flicking his faded wings in annoyance and running some clean water. The nephalem rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. Standing in front of him, as naked as the day he’d been born, the angel thought him the most beautiful thing he’d ever get to see.

“I get burnt by pure hot water,” he reminded him patiently, and Shaddox barely batted an eye. He found the heat soothing, but turned the cold tap anyway, letting it run a little to make sure the mortal man didn’t get hurt. “I’m not impervious to temperature like you.”

“So delicate,” the angel teased fondly, reaching a hand out to him. “Come here, I’ll wash you.” Micah sighed, but there was a smile on his lips as he stepped back into the tub and settled on his mate’s lap again. 

“How can I resist that offer?” 

Shaddox’s hands slid over him slowly, reverently touching him before the angel lathered up the washcloth and stole a kiss. The cloth was gently, patiently dragged over all of him, cleaning away any evidence of their play as red eyes stared at him without blinking, taking in every inch of the nephalem. Had he been anyone else, Micah might have been unnerved. As it was, he was used to the lack of human tendencies and found the stare endearing, blushing under the attentive gaze. 

“You look at me like I hung the stars, Shaddox,” he murmured softly, letting him start washing his hair too. The corrupted angel hummed roughly, scratching his scalp in an entirely pleasant way.

“Why shouldn’t I? You gave me the chance to see them again.”

[latexclownruff]

I need some thighfucking stat 😤

[sailororbiter]

If you don't have Birth Control or Condoms, there's also Intercrural Sex paired with using toys.

[tumbleweed-run]

Relax

Kinktober 2023 Day 22 Intercrural Sex

“You need to relax,” Astarion chides above you, the heels of his palms digging into the skin of your shoulders. 

You huff, unburying your face from the mattress. “I am relaxed.”

He snorts. “Yes,” he agreed sarcastically, digging his hand into a particularly tight spot of muscle, “I can feel.”

You groan at the sensation of pain, good pain. A few deep breaths, and you try to relax your body as much as possible right now. Not all the knots under your skin will be solved by breathing exercises. 

You’d spent the last four days kicking around in the Undermountian, searching for something Gale said he needed for whatever it was he was working on. Luckily, you’d managed to find the ring, a rather unassuming little gold thing with no other adornments on it. Unluckily, so did a sea hag that was lurking in the Sargauth River. You’d been slammed around by it, having been the one unfortunate enough to have discovered it. The healing potion had done much of the work before you’d left, but your body still ached. 

While Gale had run off as soon as you reached home, Astarion had insisted you bathe and then offered a massage. You had no desire to say no to these offers so you hadn’t. The bath had been warm and lovely, you no longer smelt of rotting fish, but the work Astarion was putting into your muscles was much nicer. He was sitting lightly on the backs of your thighs, hands kneading gently into your flesh and muscles. Every so often, he drizzles oil on your back to aid in the slide of his hands.

“How did you learn this,” you ask, eyes drifting shut as Astarion’s hands made their way down your back. 

Astarion laughs darkly, and you cringe, realizing your misstep. “Sometimes we needed to relax our guests in… nonchemical or mind-controlled ways,” he answers anyway. 

You hum in acknowledgment, “You’ll have to teach me sometimes. That way, I can return the favor.” 

“You were the one dashed about the rocks, pet, I maintained a rather safe distance,” Astarion reminds, as he alternates which side he was rubbing. 

He wasn’t wrong there. 

You allow yourself to doze lightly as Astarion makes his way down your back. He doesn’t linger on your ass, only paying it the same attention as he did anywhere else. You want to pout, but there’s no real drive behind it. Your brain and body are beginning to stir, his nimble hands reminding you of just what else they’re quite good at, too. By the time he’s gently digging his knuckles into the muscle of your calf, you moan and bury your face into the sheets. 

If Astarion realizes, he doesn’t let on. Instead, he keeps up his work. As he begins on your second calf, slowly working his way up your leg, you sigh and shift your legs open a little. You tell yourself it's to allow him to get at every inch of muscle, not as a temptation. By the time Astarion reaches your thigh, he’s pushed your legs farther apart with his knee, fingers kneading ever higher. 

He pauses once he reaches the top of your thigh, his hand resting on the inside. “Yes or no?”

You’re tired enough that you can’t even consider playing coy. “Yes,” you breathe, trying to spread your legs even further. 

Astarion gently runs the side of his hand between the folds of your cunt, glancing against your clit. You gasp at the sensation. His touch is soft at first when he turns his hand to rub two of his fingers against the sensitive bundle of nerves. You moan again, low in your throat. 

He’s not teasing tonight. All of his movements are expert, a perfect demonstration of how to get you off as efficiently as possible. By the time he’s pressing his fingers inside you, you’re so wet you can hear them as they slide in and out. He shifts to achieve a better angle, and you realize you can feel his hard cock pressing against your leg. 

“Wait,” you mumble through the fog of tiredness and pleasure. 

He stops immediately.

“What about you?” You manage the words without a single slur, lifting your head slightly so they’re not muffled either.

Astarion chuckles. This time it’s warm. “Darling, you can barely keep your head up, I don’t think you’ll be able to keep your hips up,” he doesn’t sound angry about this fact. Quietly amused, yes. 

“No, but I want to,” you whine and move your arm to attempt to push yourself up. 

Astarion moves quicker, pressing on your shoulder with his clean hand. You huff and earn yourself another laugh from him. “You really are something,” he says in a much softer voice than he uses normally. 

“Do you want to have sex?” You ask bluntly, even though you’ve given up trying to sit up. 

Astarion is quiet for a moment. “I wouldn’t be opposed. After all, you are a delicious sight right now,” he agrees, “but the fact remains, you can barely sit up right now,”

He’s right, you realize. “I can roll over,” you suggest. 

“No,” Astarion says, “I have an idea if you’re so set on it.”

You nod, you hair undoubtedly going wild against the sheets. “I am.”

He stands then, and when you turn your head to look at him, he’s efficiently removing his trousers. Once they’re off he presses a kiss against your forehead before climbing back onto the bed. This time, he nudges your legs closed. He climbs up them and sits, much the way he had been at the start of the massage. 

Nothing happens, and then there’s the sound of something slick. He’s fisting his cock, you realize belatedly, probably with the oil. He drizzles some between the cleft of your ass, allowing it to slide down and pool between your thighs. Astarion moves and lays over your back, hands planted on the bed. Carefully he begins rutting against your ass. You try to roll your hips to help, but a hand reaches down and presses them back toward the bed. 

He continues like that until he, too, is panting softly with each thrust. Then, he shifts and angles his hips a little differently. The first thrust like this and his cock slides between your thighs. He readjusts his angle with each new thrust until he’s just barely between your folds, most of him still between the flesh of your thighs. With every stroke, his cockhead is brushing into your clit. 

You moan breathlessly at this new sensation. You aren’t helping in the slightest. Even his legs on either side of yours are helping keep them pinned together.

You’re reduced to whimpering as he’s now perfected each thrust, hitting you clit every single time. The fire that had dulled while he prepared roars to life with a fury. Astarion keeps going, faster, as his own sounds begin to run together. Deep moans meld with soft grunts. 

You come after just a few more strokes like that. Muscles spasming to draw your thighs together impossibly tighter. Astarion keeps fucking against you, each brush against your clit drawing out your release just a little more. With a harsh sound from somewhere in his throat, Astarion comes. He keeps himself buried between your legs, and you feel his cum spurting warmly there, coating your thighs. 

He collapses on you, his flesh warmer than usual from how close he’s been to you all night. You don’t mind, eyes already fluttering shut. 

He groans, dismayed, after a moment of resting against you. “Unfortunately, I do have to clean us up, without magic,” he laments. 

You chuckle but don’t stir; sleep already claiming you.  

[dolldefiler]

Heya, babe, what’s up? Mhm? There’s something on your mind? It’s okay, you can tell me, baby. What’s wrong?

…

Am I bored of you? What prompted that question? Don’t be silly… you want me to be honest? No, look, sweetie, just forget about this. You’re perfect.

Okay, fine! Well, if I had to nitpick… you’re not that adventurous  in bed. We always do missionary in the dark until I cum once. Then you expect me to jerk off in the bathroom while you sleep. I don’t even know what your asshole looks like. Your body’s so fucking lewd but you’ll never wear any lingerie or anything.

What? No, I’m not breaking up with you. Where has your head been all this time? You want to remedy this? No, like I said, you’re fine. You’re fine. Yo-- fuck. Yeah, your ass is insane. Why are you showing me it though? Why are you taking off your jeans? God, you’re out of this world. I can do anything I want to it? Right now?

Shit, baby, I can’t help but jerk off to it. Can you see my cock, baby? My cock’s so fucking hard just looking at your ass. Fuck, can I-- can I eat your ass, baby? Oh fuckkk. Haah. Ughh, jesus, your asshole’s amazing baby. Thank you for letting me taste you. Fuck, this is hot, I might explode. Am I dreaming?

Mhm, I’m just spitting on your ass, princess. Why? I’m lubing your ass cheeks up for my cock. No, don’t worry. I’m not fucking your ass today… but I do want to feel my cock sliding between your perfect, fat globes while I make out with you. Would you let me do that? Would you, baby? Fuckk, your ass feels amazing. Thank you so much for letting me fuck your ass like this. One day… I’m going to put it in your little fuckhole and I’ll have my way with you.

FUCK, fuck, fuck, woah, haah, you’re— ughh, you’re so fucking hot right now. That’s a good girl, you can take Daddy’s cock. Can you call me Daddy. Can you? FUCK, hearing you say it so shyly might make me cum hard all over your ass. Come here, let me make out with your lewd, sloppy tongue. Mhm, hnng~.

Baby, look at me. Look at me. I’m going to fucking cum all over your perfect fucking ass. I’m going to cum over your ass and then I’ll pound your sloppy fucking mouth and pour another load down your throat. You’ll let me, right? Fuck, you’re perfect. I love you, baby. I love your fat ass and your pretty lips. SHIT, I’m CUMMING!

Oh fuckk, baby. Thank you for letting me do that. Now get on your knees, please. That’s right. That’s a good girl, sweetheart.

[syoddeye]

siphon, part three

john price x f!reader part one | two | three | four ~2.6k words cw: kidnapping, implied stalking, dubcon/noncon, intercrural sex

Another week passes.

John told the truth. You sleep in a bed. His bed, as predicted. You join him for three square meals a day. Make eye contact, respond when he talks to you, listen when he talks at you, and pretend not to scrutinize every square inch of the cabin when he's not looking. 

The morning after your punishment, he presents you with clothing. It's the wine all over again. Everything fits and is unnervingly similar to your usual wardrobe, albeit a quarter of the size. He returns your jeans, washed, but keeps your bra, t-shirt, and underwear you wore while confined. You glimpse familiar cotton in one of his drawers. Sicko.

He tries to instill domesticity, but his fantasy and your reality do not meld. He orders you to scrub the kitchen from top to bottom, then casually retrieves a handgun from the locked utility closet and cleans it at the table like he's reading the paper. Makes you help with cooking. Gathers you into his thick arms for a dance when he likes the song on the radio, moving you like a marionette. Forces you to cuddle during whatever movie he pops into the DVD player.

Through it all, he hasn't fucked you. He fucks with you. 

You've grown to expect his touch and don't fight as hard as you did the first time—as hard as you should, probably. But your body is regaining strength, and you can't risk another stint in the kennel, not with escape on the horizon.

So you're not surprised when John spreads you over the table after breakfast to eat you out or ignores the movie to finger you. You're angry. You're…sickly hopeful. Because while he brings you to the edge, he doesn't let you go. It always ends the same: you writhing on the closest solid surface, incoherent, and he simply pulls your underwear up and continues with his day.

It isn't for lack of trying. John slaps your hands when you try to reach your clit as he eats you out and hides the blankets when you read or watch movies. Cuffs your hands palms together at night and doesn't give you an inch of space in bed. At least you can use the bathroom with the door closed now, but there's a limit there, too. You silently time it; it's somewhere between a minute and a half to two before he bursts in.

He's waiting for you to ask. It's his whole thing. In a fucked up way, you edge each other. Different types of sexual frustration. Nevertheless, you traipse around in his shadow, transmogrifying into your own breed of pent-up monster. 

John breaks the pattern in the shower. The last three times, before he washes you, he pushes you to the knife's edge until the already tepid water runs cold. This time, though, there is no half-assed foreplay with a washcloth. You automatically brace your hands on the tile and wait for the inevitable...but a quiet grunt compels you to look over your shoulder.

The shower is small. Enough for you both to fit, but you must take turns under the water. So, while you cannot see him stroking himself at this angle, that is what he's doing. His face says it all. With the spray hitting his back, his eyes are half-hooded, mouth a firm line.

"Spread your legs a little."

This is new.

You carefully shuffle your feet apart. It's finally happening. He's going to fuck you. Here, in the most inconvenient of places, just as you're starting to freeze–

His cock slips between your thighs with a groan. He ghosts his hands down your sides, tapping each leg to slowly press back together, enveloping him, snug, flush to your pussy. "That's my good girl. Let me have this." As if you have a say.

He starts slow. Thrusts deliberate, pushing through your squeezed flesh until he's as close as he can possibly get. A hand migrates north, dragging up your belly to massage your breasts, tweaking and tugging your nipples into firm peaks. Pinching and grunting when the bit of pain makes you whine. 

It's maddening. With each glide of his cock, there's enough pressure for your body to respond. What seeps down is scorching compared to the few droplets that make it past the sheer wall of John's body. You cling to it as your body grows cold outside the water's reach, gooseflesh appearing along your limbs despite his thrusts' arduous yet smooth track. Your head lolls forward when his hand leaves your breasts and descends.

"You like this don't you?" John breathes as his fingers creep down, barely caressing where you're almost joined. He adjusts the angle, catching your pussy with purpose. One shift is all it would take. He means this, the roll of his hips, as empty but delicious threats. A conquest meant to fail at the gates. You hate that your body seeks it like a lock wants a key. You want to be opened, for him to just finally fuck you without making you ask. Because if he did, if he lost control, it would absolve you of the sick twinge of desire.

A finger pushes into the tight enclosure of your legs to find your clit. The skin drags a little. At the slightest brush, you whimper.

"Fuck," He groans, nose dragging along your scalp. "That sound…goes straight through me," He ruts between your legs, finger meanly circling your nub. Wet slaps echo off the shower wall. "I reckon I could listen to it all day."

Although your pleasure is clearly secondary, it follows his touch obediently when he rings your bell. As much as you try to bite them back, your soft gasps and whines snitch.

"You gonna come like this?" He asks, the honeyed tone a bad and blatant fake, "Just from my cock rubbing this sweet little cunt?" His hand departs your hip and darts into your wet hair, craning your neck. Two pits of cobalt, hints of an undertow that'll drag you out if you let them. He grits out, beseeching, "C'mon, sweetheart. Don't be so proud."

He rips his hand off and anchors it on your hip when you fail to ask, tsking when you wail and curse in frustration.

In the end, the water is markedly cooler by the time he comes. He releases your hair violently, shoving your head forward to watch his spend splatter on the tile, like rubbing a dog's face in it. His body pitches over your back, and he rocks a few moments more, muttering something into your hair. It's a minute before he pulls his softening cock from your thighs, shuts off the water, and lets out a luxuriating sigh. He pats your rump, crowding you into the corner as he steps out of the shower.

"Clean it up–ah, didn't say with a towel, love."

~~

He parades around for the rest of the day, humming that gratingly chipper tune. He scribbles notes on a legal pad, loosely chaperoning you as you make sandwiches. You avoid looking at the stack of tuna tins under the windowsill, standing sentinel.

It's been…two weeks? Either your employer thinks you walked away, or human resources reported you missing. You sincerely doubt the latter. There's probably a termination notice waiting in your inbox. You don't want to leave your chances to your landlord, either. You need to distract or incapacitate John.

Without thinking, you rummage through a drawer for a butter knife and only realize your mistake once he grabs your wrist.

You apologize embarrassingly fast, letting him press you into the counter's edge. "I'm sorry, just want a butter knife to cut mine in half."

John's mouth tightens beneath his beard, eyes flinty, deciding whether he believes it. The song on the radio transitions into the next. It's an opportunity to get on his good side. You take it.

As though approaching a skittish animal, you gingerly lift your free hand and take his shoulder. Trapped, you can't lean into him, but he understands after a second. He relents with a chuckle and sweeps you into a dance.

You build on the momentum and strategically initiate over a few days. You feed him forgeries of affection. While you read, you lay your head on his shoulder. Brush a hand over his back. Comment on the weather. It's a partial success. The blankets return to the sofa, and he lets you pick a movie. And even though he's on the other side of the glass masturbating, he allows you to shower alone.

You test the development.

In bed, you intentionally shift for the umpteenth time.

"Why're you squirming?" He asks, turning a page.

"Can I sleep without these, please?" You lift your cuffed hands. 

The silence stretches long enough that you think he's angry before he closes his book and sets it aside with a thump. A hand gently skims your side, then squeezes.

"On your back." 

A frisson of excitement shoots down from the base of your neck to your core. It shouldn't. You do as instructed.

John traces a path along your body to where your cuffed hands rest. He unfastens, then tosses them over his shoulder. He plants a hand on the other side of your body and hovers. It reads as an invitation rather than a demand. Another chance to take. All a part of the plan. You worked up to this. You tug him down.

He groans into the kiss and swiftly claims dominion over your mouth. You kiss back with equal measure, dead set on convincing him you want it, and he slots himself over you. Eventually, he pulls back to scrape his beard on your neck, leaving wet kisses and burns. His hand rucks up your shirt, and he grinds down, his erection pressing, dagger-like.

It's working. This is a win-win, better than a straight loss. This isn't giving in. It's a tactical surrender, a Faustian bargain.

"Think I don't know what you're doing? What you've been up to?" John rasps into the hollow of your throat, pinching a nipple. "Trying to butter me up."

Of course, the devil's a step ahead. "No, I–"

"Make it easier on yourself," He advises, heading south to suckle and roughly knead your chest.

Ask for it. All you have to do is ask.

No. You need to keep trying.

"Not yet?" John smirks, mouth pressing to skin. "We'll get there."

After a while, your pajamas pile on the ground, and his head latches between your thighs. You clutch the sheets as he alternates, gorging himself on both holes, the liquid heat of his tongue relentless in its explorations. His beard is wet when he comes up for air.

John laves his tongue around his fingers, gaze zeroed in on their destination. This is going to be the most awful one yet. You're sure of it.

Things will get worse before they get better, you remind yourself. 

When he toys with your cunt, he looks detached, clinical. He draws precise, tight circles over your clit, lazily scissoring two fingers to prep for something that won't happen unless you invite it in. 

Your eyes flutter shut at the push of a third.

"Twenty-two," He murmurs.

The stretch slurs your words. "W-What?"

"'S how many times you could've come by now."

Your mind's caught in quicksand, lagging in its comprehension. "You–You kept track?"

"I track everything, darling," John accelerates the pumping and rolling of his wrist. "Tracked you, your routine, everything about you," The words are insidious, spoken with tenderness, but there is nothing kind about the set of his jaw or the possessiveness in his eyes.

You tense and he misreads it. 

"You're a fucking psychopath."

"And you're grippin' my fingers like you never want them to stop."

John laughs on his way down, the sound resonating through your skin when he seals his lips around your clit and sucks. 

He brings the count to twenty-four before he relents. He reclines on his haunches, tugs his sweats down, and wraps a fist around his cock. Stroking leisurely, he briefly watches you grapple with your choices and lost orgasms. He licks his lips, eyes darting from your breasts, stomach, and holes. The head glistens.

He shudders when he catches you staring. The need plain on your face.

On your back in limbo. A soul delivered without resolution. Your lips part, but it's his breath that hitches.

"Yeah?"

He told you the number on purpose so you'd feel the ache of two dozen would-be little deaths at once. Dull your mind but whet your senses. The emphatic, plotting voice in your head grows quiet.

"John…"

John's hand slides to his base and closes in. He looks as wrecked as you feel, slicking himself in your folds. His cockhead nudges your clit, probes, and it's enough. Your ticket out.

"Please, fuck me?"

His expression hardens instantly, but he grits his teeth and pushes in a few inches before you can question it. Groaning, he bucks shallowly, working his way in deeper and basking in the clear discomfort written on your face. He's thick, unforgiving, and it's no wonder he stuffed three fingers into you. He knew you'd give in. How could you not? Fucking bastard.

His voice rumbles when he sheathes himself completely within your depths, and his grip tightens. "Ask and you shall receive, sweetheart."

With each thrust, he claims new territory and finds new space to fill — ripping up whatever peace was left to stake a claim. Shocks skitter up your spine when, with a deft roll of his hips, he hits a new angle that punches a moan out of you. Grinning, he rides it hard, dogged in his pursuit. 

"Thiiiis," He hisses, "Is the only place you're gonna come. On my cock or not at all."

You know he means it.  

He plays you like a fiddle in more ways than one, effortlessly hauling you, kicking and screaming (clawing, whimpering, begging) to the edge, and holding you over with a fist. He knows your pussy after torturing it for days on end. He tracks everything, after all.

"Please, I need it!"

He hinges and drops closer. An arm bends to support his weight, and the other cups the underside of your face, pushing your head back on the pillow.

"You can't imagine how good it feels to hear you beg like that, sweetheart," John kisses you with teeth, nipping. "But since you asked so prettily…" He slips his hand back between you.

Yes, yes, yes. You'll kill him if he stops. 

Warm, fat tears roll down your face, obscuring John's face as he finally, finally lets go of you. You clench with a wail, seizing tightly. It's molten, caustic even, and burns off every edge you have.

"Fuck, knew you'd–Christ–you'd feel like a dream," John grinds out. With your walls fluttering around him, it doesn't take long for him to follow. He sinks into the hilt, warmth blooming in the last place you feel alive. "I love you."

The pleasurable haze surrounding you is not enough to insulate you from the words. You flinch like he's slapped you.

"Not yet?" He drawls, echoing himself. "We'll get there."

John whispers your name and praises you. When he softens, he pulls out, only to 'clean you' with his mouth. It's ouroboros. 

"A man's got to take care of what's his." You know where that's going.

Now that he's fucked you, he can't get enough. He's hard when he crawls up and starts the cycle anew. 

[sephirthoughts]

Smut dispenser?!! Well well, don't mind if I do!

One Sephiroth x (dealer's choice) please!

I dont care who he's with or not with I JUST NEED SEPHIROTH

DING DING DING YOU GET: Sephiroth x Cloud, semi-public, non-penetrative, with some psychoanalysis to spice up the porn. This one's actually smut, not a dicktease like the last one this stupid gacha machine spit out. The machine also made up the title don't blame me for it.

should go without saying but: MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY

Do as the Greeks Romans Do

Some of them called him a cyborg. A boy robot. A toy soldier. All of them looked at him with expressions from the ‘pity’ or ‘disdain’ or even ‘disgust’ flash cards, that the PR team made him study. But he was small, then.

When he hit his late teens and had a mercurial growth spurt, most people’s expressions changed to the ones on the ‘nervous’, ‘anxious’ and ‘afraid’ cards. 

He was told by the PR team that they were just shy, because he was such a famous hero, and that was intimidating, to normal people. They said he should try smiling more. That would make civilians and colleagues feel more comfortable around him.

So, every day, he practiced carefully, in the mirror, until he had successfully trained himself to always wear the placid, non-threatening smile, from the expression cards.

He smiled while he was training. He smiled while he was slaughtering enemies. He smiled while he was talking to anyone, and when he was alone. When he was eating or bathing, or having samples of his blood and tissue and semen collected, for the Science and Research Division—always the same smile. 

Strangely enough, it actually worked. People began greeting him with friendly-card faces. They were less jumpy and nervous when he was in a room. Children no longer cried or ran away, when they saw him. During that time, his reputation as a war hero was also soaring, sky-high, which Shinra loved. 

Sephiroth hated it. He hated the false image they showed the public, that made him out to be some kind of super-patriot, acting for the good of all mankind. 

He wasn’t a guardian angel, he was just a naturally gifted person. He hated unnecessary cruelty, but otherwise, he liked fighting and killing, because he was good at those things. That was all he knew how to do.

His life wasn’t very enjoyable to him, in that period, but there were things he liked. He liked when people had happy-card faces. He liked when Genesis gave dramatic recitations of Loveless. He liked when Angeal and Zack talked energetically with one another, so he could listen and learn from their tones of voice and expressions. He was teaching himself how to be a person, and he learned from all of them. 

From Genesis, he learned that he liked beauty and poetry, but disliked jealousy and competitive hostility. From Angeal, he learned that he liked honor and loyalty. From Zack, he learned that he liked enthusiasm and perseverance. From Cloud, he learned that he liked boys. 

Or, one boy, at least. As ridiculous as it may sound, at that age, he’d still been an absolute novice, in that arena. A human weapon had no reason to learn about the complex and volatile dynamics of sexual relationships, and thus he was never taught. He knew of the concepts, theoretically—his education was thorough and rigorous—but that was all. 

What’s more, he had never felt anything akin to romantic attraction, and had certainly never associated sexuality with a person he found interesting. His experience of anything sexual was limited to the purely mechanical stimulation of his penis until ejaculation, in a sterile medical environment, with the goal of collecting samples of his semen, during his regular physical examinations. They took samples of blood, hair, tissue, and urine, as well. It was no different than that.

When Shinra’s tower of lies crashed down around him, and everything he’d been taught to believe about himself fell to wreck and ruin, he began to systematically examine and reject many of the principles that had been indoctrinated into him, since birth. 

Among these, was the idea that he did not have emotions. He did have them. He had always had them. But he had been forcibly suppressing them for so long, he no longer had the capacity to identify them, let alone cope with them. Particularly not complicated and unfamiliar ones, pertaining to an individual person. 

To put it briefly, Sephiroth wouldn’t know romantic attraction if it walked up and bit him on the lip. So, when he encountered a young man, who triggered a dizzying cascade of emotional and physical responses in himself, he was deeply confused, to say the least. 

Under the circumstances, it was perfectly understandable that he would misidentify his desire to penetrate Cloud sexually, as a desire to penetrate him with a sword, and would act accordingly. 

But, when it came to it, he was never able to strike a fatal blow. He simply couldn’t kill him. Then he wouldn’t. Then it became his line in the sand. No matter what happened, Cloud Strife had to live. How this jibed with his plan to end the world…that was uncertain. 

He had some vague idea that he’d expose the evil and hypocrisy of humanity to Cloud, and that Cloud, having the wool pulled from over his eyes, would join him. That he’d be understood and accepted, by someone whose understanding and acceptance were worthwhile, to him. 

What happened, instead, was that they wound up having a series of semi-hostile sexual interchanges, in semi-public locations. 

This had not been Sephiroth’s intention. When he caught Cloud in that first alleyway, he’d used his body to pin the small young man against a wall, from behind, purely as a restraining technique. 

What he did not expect, was that Cloud would gasp and writhe about in a such an alluring way. What he expected even less, was that feeling that small, warm body enveloped in his, would elicit such an immediate and potent sexual response from him.

Cloud’s helpless, warm-blooded-prey-animal reaction to his predatory incursion, made him so hard, his cock ached and strained uncomfortably against his leather trousers. 

When his suddenly erect member pressed against Cloud’s backside, Sephiroth found his rational mind overwhelmed by a torrent of aggression and possessiveness, like he had never experienced, before. 

He wanted this boy. Wanted to make him his own. Wanted to strip him to the skin and touch and taste his entire body. To push him down and penetrate him. To release his seed inside him. And he had absolutely no idea what to do about it.

He knew theoretically the way men had sex with men, but he had never had sex with anyone, and was fairly certain he would seriously injure boy, if he tried it now. 

That would be unacceptable. Cloud must remain alive and unharmed, no matter what. However, Cloud must also become his unequivocal possession, and submit his body and soul to him in every way. It was a conundrum.

Then he recalled some information Genesis had related to him, once, about the way in which the noblemen of some ancient society possessed their young, male lovers—by penetrating them between the thighs. Thus was the sex act accomplished, without injuring the receptive partner, nor compromising his chastity. 

He became hyper-focused on this idea, and was almost unaware what he was doing, till he’d already pulled the boy’s trousers and underwear down around his knees. Cloud struggled and thrashed, to absolutely no effect, until Sephiroth’s hot, heavy shaft slotted into the cleft of his ass. Then he went stiff and still, as if he’d petrified that way.

Sephiroth’s head spun, like a drunk, giddy and euphoric, with the tantalizing pleasure of rubbing his bare cock on Cloud’s velvety, naked skin. He reached around, from curiosity, and found the boy also rigidly erect, with a bit of slippery fluid leaking from the slit in the head of his small, pretty cock.

[EDITORIAL ADDENDUM: Mr. Strife has asked that it be here noted that his penis is actually well above average in size, and that Sephiroth’s perception was distorted, because he had only his own ‘freakishly huge’ member, as well as those of the ‘slightly less freakish but still fucking ridiculous’ Angeal and Zack, for comparison.] 

“Mm? What’s this?” Sephiroth hummed, giving it a squeeze.

“S—stop touching it!” Cloud sputtered, blushing so hard his ears and neck turned pink. “Let me go, you fucking psycho!”

“Now, now. There’s no reason for name-calling,” Sephiroth murmured in his ear, tracing the tips of his gloved fingers up and down the shaft, as he rocked his hips, grinding his formidable weapon against Cloud's ass. “You must like being touched, for you to be this way already.”

“What are you…what are you going to do to me?” Cloud asked breathlessly.

Though he was panting like a rabbit in a snare, it was only about half fear. Sephiroth could feel the electrified tension in his small body, practically vibrating against his own, but he didn’t pull away.

“Nothing that will hurt,” he said softly. 

Cloud gave a jolt, as Sephiroth’s cock, long and hard and thick, was thrust abruptly between his thighs, and the big, blunt head knocked into his balls. The sound that escaped his lips was obscene—halfway between a moan and a pleading whimper. 

It went straight to Sephiroth’s cock. He pulled back and thrust again, eliciting another deliciously lewd cry from Cloud’s mouth, and then it was on. 

Cloud squeezed his thighs together, and Sephiroth kept rutting between them, till they were both panting and overheated, intoxicated on the unspeakable pleasure of intimate, physical contact with one another, after all the violence and antagonism between them. 

Truth be told, Sephiroth was woefully unprepared for the world of difference between a spontaneous and mutually enthusiastic sexual interchange, and that sterile, manual stimulation he had known prior to this, which had been no different to him than urinating.

That had been perfunctory and joyless—just another duty that was expected of him. This was hot and messy and confused; poignant and visceral, almost to the point of being unbearable. It was…human. Maybe the only genuinely human experience he’d ever had.

When Sephiroth came, his mind blanked out, to white space. He lost his preternatural composure and gave a choked groan, sinking his teeth into Cloud’s warm, softly scented neck, and shuddering as his cock pulsed, releasing in long, aching bursts, between the boy’s accommodating thighs. 

He was still reeling, from his intense climax, when he noticed Cloud was stroking his own cock, in a frantic, ungraceful way, that was immensely charming to his terminally graceful partner. 

Even more charming, was the hand that had reached back and was clinging to his leather coat, pulling him closer, rather than pushing him away, for the first time in their acquaintance.

Luminous blue-green eyes, with dilated pupil slits, watched curiously, over Cloud’s shoulder, as the boy wrung himself rapidly to climax. Cloud arched his slender back against Sephiroth’s chest, leaning heavily on him, eyes squeezed shut, biting his rosy bottom lip, while he ejaculated, quick spurts of milky-white fluid, all over the wall in front of him.  

Then…neither of them moved, to break contact. They just remained that way, for several long minutes, in silence; Sephiroth holding Cloud tightly in his arms, no sound but the background hum of the city, and one another’s breathing.

The area where their bodies were pressed together began to feel humid and sticky, even through Cloud’s shirt. Keeping one hand securely on Cloud’s narrow waist, to prevent the half-conscious boy toppling over entirely, Sephiroth refastened his own trousers. Cloud stirred, in response to the movement.

“What…what the fuck just happened?” he said dazedly. 

Sephiroth chuckled. “Worry not, little puppet. You’re a still a virgin. For now.”

“How’d you know—I mean, who the hell said I was a virgin?” Cloud demanded, pulling away and turning around to look up at him.

But Sephiroth, overcome with a sudden, unreasoning terror of being perceived, in this vulnerable state, had already vanished, leaving the boy alone in the alley, blinking about confusedly, as he pulled up his trousers. 

[goingxmissing]

your blog has set me thinking about how lando really likes his little guys with soft, furry thighs like oscar and maxf do not look at all like each other but they both got those luxury executive first class leggies

Sweet Anon, I almost didn't answer this so that I could keep it in my inbox forever, but I think "luxury first class leggies" needs to be shared with the world. Soft, furry thighs are SO IMPORTANT! (To Lando but also to many of us.) You truly have the Vision.

[avonne-writes]

So...rereading Reverie again (I honestly just reread the entire thing every time I see an update. I love it so much) and am at the flashback scene in chapter three in which Gale and John have been racing and Gale's looking at John bending down in shorts a size too small. I love that John only recognizes much later that Gale was having any kind of sexual thoughts about it because I read it and immediately thought, "Gale was 100% thinking about intercrural sex because John's got some thicc thighs."

Aw, thank you so much, I’m so happy that you're enjoying the story so much that you'd reread it! ❤️

Haha, Bucky is so in denial in the beginning that he’s blind. Meanwhile, Gale is 100% thinking about touching those lovely thighs, running his palms over the sweaty muscle, putting his mouth on them to suck and bite, spreading them to lie between them or, just like you said, pushing them together to slide into that tight, warm vice they create...

[the-last-dillpickle]

I think the fact that modern e-rated Sloanshir stories about hj/bjs vastly outnumber fics where they have anal sex is interesting and says something about the nature of the ship

[sapphicblight]

it's hard to play with rules in the way - a kimchay pwp

Year of the OTP 2023 August prompt: au of your choice In which WiK breaks his own rule about not fucking groupies.

key tags: canon divergence, wikchay, thigh fucking (intercrural)

[doks-aux]

Henry fucking Will's thighs while Will's wearing the handsewn Bonnie suit, telling him how wet and tight and warm he is. The way he's gripping the suit has it pulled tight against Will's cock, the fabric rubbing against the head where it's peeking out of the foreskin. It's just right but not quite enough, and Will's on the edge for what feels like forever until Henry finally wraps his big, warm hand around him through the suit, and Will's fucking whining as he comes.

[officialpenisenvy]

did he fuck that horse.....

[femboy-central]

guys um. guuuuuys. guys. this is so embarrassing but. I don’t know how to find a certain. fic. Ummmmmm

IT IS NOT AN ALL AGES ONE 💀💀💀 so if you’re a minor. Don’t look at my tags I guess 💀 I won’t be very Explicit but just in case