#it is very sore and swollen but it's holding weight

[jedi-bird]

Sorting through old children's books and found this. At some point in my youth I apparently got a book with my Taco Bell kids meal. I don't remember it at all but I'll probably keep it for the novelty factor.

[peachysunrize]

The King’s Retribution ⥃ prince Aemond Targaryen

Summary: when he walks back to the Keep, Aemond finds his brother’s wife in distress while her youngest child keeps her awake. Maybe it’s time to show the King that no one can humiliate the one-eyed prince.

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, rough sex, lactation kink, reader is Aegon’s wife, post B&C, s2e3 inspired, dacryphilia, Aemond feels humiliated after the brothel scene, hair pulling, doggystyle, they do it in Aegon’s rooms👀 kind of a chubby/overweight reader because she has baby weight, tell me if I’ve missed something. English isn’t my first language<3

Word count: 3.6k+

A/n: a very special thank you to @aemonds-holy-milk for this incredible request!!! And a very honorable mention and thank you to @arcielee for helping me with the plot and beta-ing for me! Your touch made this much hotter and better!🩷 Reblogs and comments are more than welcome<33

Aemond pushes the door to one of Maegor’s tunnels, peeking through to see if anyone is around. He scoffs when he finds the hallway empty, with no guards, no maids or handmaidens. He walks upstairs to the royal chamber’s floor, one hand pushing his hood off while the other twirls his dagger.

He is filled with such rage that he can burn this castle down without Vhagar’s help. The sting of humiliation keeps poking through his ribs, making him heave with each breath he takes. He had to keep his composure back in the brothel, he had to show his power by walking outside the room naked as the day he was born to regain some control his brother took away from him.

He walks past the rooms of his family, skipping a stair here or two as he follows the path to his chambers in silence, until he reaches his brother’s doors, catching the sound of a soft hiccuping and muffled wailing of a child.

Aemond unsheathes the dagger as he steps closer to the unguarded door, shaking his head in disbelief at his brother’s ignorance, especially after what happened to Jaehaerys. He opens the door slowly, not wanting to startle whoever is inside — a nursemaid or the queen.

He finds you sitting in front of the fireplace with baby Maelor crying fat tears in your arms as he tries to latch onto your exposed breasts to fill his tiny, hungry belly. Aemond’s eye wanders over your bare upper body; heavy swollen teats leaking with milk, a tired and teary expression on your face as you try to lull your son back to sleep, tending to him, caressing him, loving him. 

He has never seen a sight more beautiful than this.

He sheathes his dagger and pushes it into his belt before knocking on your door gently so as not to scare you and his nephew. He watches you closely as you snap your head in his direction, the tension leaving your shoulders as you smile at him sadly.

“Aemond,” you call him, gasping when your son bites your already sore nipple with his gums, trying to latch on to it but failing. He cries harder, face twisted angrily, his chubby cheeks red and puffy with how long he’s been searching for some comfort.

“Please, please don’t — mommy is trying,” you cry with him softly, standing up to pace around the room while you rock him, shushing him and wiping his tears. You are trying your hardest to feed him properly, but every second is wasted in vain as he cries and fusses in your arms.

Aemond closes the door behind him, enraptured with the sight you made—watching you walk around the room, half bare and beautiful to his eager eye.  He unfastens his cloak and belt that holds his daggers and sword before laying it on the nearest table, walking towards you with his hands locked behind his back.

You look like The Mother coming real, a god he should worship at your altar.

“Oh, my darling boy,” you coo at Maelor, sniffing as he sobs harder, his little fists flying on your chest as he searches for your breast, mouth parted and ready to be filled with his late-night meal.

Aemond stands behind you, not too close to intrude on your personal space, especially in such a vulnerable state you are in, but to keep looking at you. His eye roams across your nude chest, your fuller stomach, and hips that carry the remaining weight of having pushed a babe into the world.

He listens to your words, remembering the sight of his brother mocking him at the brothel, while he was being cuddled and taken care of — what an ugly laugh he has, Aegon. 

His gaze darkens as he looks at you, his queen, his brother’s wife, his brother’s possession, being so vulnerable in his presence with your breasts out and your child finally suckling on them. His eye finds your form once more as Aegon's words replay in his ears — ‘My brother will not sample another.’ He will make sure to teach his brother a very valuable lesson and serve him a good punishment.

His cock starts to swell beneath the layers of his clothing as he stares at you with a newfound passion; you have always been a lovely figure in his mind, too sweet and beautiful to be wed to his brother, and yet, now your features seem to be bolder in his eye.

He strides forward when he hears Maelor crying again, this time much softer but a cry nonetheless. You scurry to cover your breasts when you feel him behind you, trying to look at least a bit modest now that your child is less fussy.

“I’m sorry, Aemond, I-I forgot you came to visit,” you say in a hushed tone, waiting with bated breath for him to say something.

He looks down at his nephew over your shoulder, reaching to wipe a drop of milk from his round cheek near his mouth, his fingers brushing against your sore nipple accidentally. Both of you inhale sharply — him with the new rush of desire and you in surprise. 

“What a messy eater,” he says, his eye meeting yours as he brings his wet finger to his mouth, licking the remaining of your milk off while he keeps eye contact with you, dropping his eye to your lips as soon as they part in surprise before he meets your eyes again — they look darker, cloudier, more lustful. Your lashes flutter, and your rosy lips let out a shaky breath as you keep your gaze on his pink tongue licking his finger.

“It runs in the family I’m afraid,” you reply, averting your eyes from him, pressing a kiss on top of your son’s head as you bounce him, trying to hide your embarrassment.

Despite how crude your husband is, he’s never been one for making you flustered by such a simple gesture, and yet, his brother seems to be the complete opposite; bold, daring, and he’s surely taking whatever he wants.

“May I?” Aemond asks, standing in front of you with extended arms, reaching to take Maelor in his embrace. You gently pass him over, and as soon as your arms are free you bring them to your chest to cover your breasts.

“I-I need to—would you mind holding him for a moment?” You pull the front of your shift up as you ask him, and he can’t help his gaze not fall back on your chest but looks upward to your eyes quickly before you catch him and nod.

He hugs Maelor close, resting his little head on his shoulder as he walks towards his crib, glancing at you walking past the privacy screen. Aemond shushes his nephew, rocking him gently while he hums a tune his mother used to sing for him to lull him to sleep. It seems his efforts have worked when Maelor grows quiet, tinted cheeks stained with tears and fingers fisted tightly. Aemond lies him down slowly, brushing a finger over the few strands of his nephew’s silver hair before his attention is turned to you walking towards him with a warm towel over your chest.

“He has been restless as of late,” you sigh, leaning down to brush a kiss on your son’s forehead, standing on Aemond’s good side, “as have I, as everyone in the Keep. It seems he feels the loss of his brother.”

“We are all shaken by the loss of Jaehaerys,” he replies, his good eye looking up at your face, taking in every up and down of your face.

“Yeah,” you smile at him, ducking your head as soon as the tears gather in your eyes, “yeah…”

He takes a step closer, reaching to wipe the tear that fell from your eye, cupping your cheek in his large hand, “What ails you, my queen?”

“I just…” words die in your throat as he rubs soothing circles on your cheek, tracing the shape of your cheekbone with his thumb. “I’ve been feeling so unloved.” Your voice comes out a fragile whisper.

“Why is that, my queen?” He asks, swallowing harshly at the thought of his fool of a brother being neglectful to you. He’s been given the most beautiful maiden in the realm as his wife, so dutiful and sweet, but taken for granted because Aegon can’t simply keep his cock in his breeches for so long.

“Did you happen to see him when you were out?” You ignore his question, looking up at him from beneath your wet lashes that frame your eyes so perfectly.

He nods, his strong hold on your face never faltering, if anything he’s now more determined to punish Aegon, to take something he has been given on a silver plate but failed to care for. His touch is warm and welcoming, it grounds you to this moment of brief recognition of your feelings. Aemond seems to understand it, willing to give more, but his main purpose of this visit is to hurt Aegon the way he has hurt him.

“Was he—“ a sob is stuck in your throat as you try to utter the words, “in the b-brothel?”

Aemond looks down at his muddy boots, recalling how his brother saw him, how he laughed and undermined him in front of his friends. Aemond forgets about your question for a second, pressing his lips into a thin line and gritting his teeth before he looks back up at you, not before looking one last time at your chest, watching your milk soak through the fabric.

“I-I apologize, maybe it’s best if you leave—” You move away from him, making his hand fall from your face as you try to put back the little dignity you have left before you embarrass yourself more in front of him.

Something shifts inside him as you hide yourself from him, putting more distance between as you move toward the bed. His brother was right; he has not sampled another and has always sought out the Madame, but maybe it ought to change, maybe the fire of his brother’s cruelty might quell if he takes his most precious possession from him.

“Allow me to help you, my queen,” he walks toward you slowly, his eye seizing you up, taking in the sight of your curls around your shoulders, your skin glowing under the orange hues of the candles.

You turn around, watching him take long steps until he’s standing in front of you. He raises his hand, brushing his knuckles on your collarbones, his eyes dropping down to your cleavage. You exhale shakily, whether it is in requited desire or surprise, he does not know, but you do not push him away, just a weak protest that ‘we should not do this, I am your brother’s wife.’

“My brother is a fool who demeans others to feel powerful, and he has done this to us both,” he dips his down on your neck, his hot breath fanning on your ear, “let me show you what you have been deprived of.”

“You wish to help me just to teach your king a lesson?” your voice comes out with a slight tremble as you reach to brush your fingers through his silky hair. “Is that truly why you want me?”

“I despise when Aegon takes what is his for granted,” he says, “He is a fucking twat who takes for granted the treasures he has been given: the throne, the crown, you. And he humiliates you, his queen, by stepping inside that sinful place," he mumbles against your skin, tracing his lips over your neck while his nose nudges your cheek. 

“What do you want to do?” you whine when he bites your earlobe; you cling to his shoulders.

“I wish to fuck you like a hound,” he groans into your ear, his hands coming to grip your full hips.

“We will experience his wrath, Aemond,” you try to protest, but with how focused he is on marking your skin, you cannot help but melt in his arms.

“He is the king, I’m a kinslayer,” he hovers his mouth over yours. “I will kill him too if he dares to subject you to his anger.”

“We must be quiet-mhm—” he cuts you off, smashing his lips to yours, swallowing your protest. His hands move to your waist, gripping and caressing wherever he can reach, his tongue meeting yours in a soft battle of dominance. 

You moan into his mouth when one of his fingers traces a line from your hip up to your breast, squeezing the heavy flesh in his large palm. He groans against your sweet lips in delight, loving the weight of you in his hand. His thumb swipes across the wet towel before he pulls it out of your shift and drops it on the floor, leading you backward past the privacy screen to the bed.

You tangle your fingers in his soft hair, reaching to pull away the tie and letting his shiny silver hair frame his face beautifully while he kisses your breath away.

He lies you on the bed, breaking away from your lips for a second to look down at you, making room on top of you with his gaze fixed on the way your milk soaks through the fabric. He grabs the sides of your shift, ready to rip it apart before you put your hand on his, shaking your head, mumbling a hushed ‘we need to be quiet’ before taking off the dress yourself, lying under his heated gaze all bare except for your small clothes.

“My brother is a fucking idiot,” he mutters before he leans down to lick a path from your neck to your heaving chest, swiping the tip of his tongue over your nipple. He hums as he tastes a few beads of your milk, but abruptly stops when you whine, looking up at you with a questioning look.

“Maelor, well, he can’t latch onto his wet nurses. They are a bit s-sensitive— oh!” Your hand flies to your mouth when Aemond closes his lips around your bud, sucking like a babe being starved for hours, finally having his fill.

His other hand moves to your other breast, pinching, squeezing, and playing with the flesh while he gets drunk on your milk, helping the weight of discomfort vanish immediately.

Your nipple falls from his lips with a lewd ‘pop’, and he moves to the other one, giving the same attention while he leaves sticky lines of your milk across your chest, sucking on your teat quickly, nearly growling at the taste.

You cannot do anything besides moaning behind your hand and arching your back, pushing your chest further into his face. You throw your head back as your hips buck into his, his bulge rubbing against your covered core.

Aegon has never done this for you, it’s always been his duty to plant his seed inside you with little to no care for you to just make an heir, and after Jaehaerys, he’s been ever more distant — no more dinners, no walks in the garden with you and the kids.

His interest weakened the more you started to show, your soft dolce features turned into one of a woman, a mother-to-be, so he sought his pleasure in the brothels to fill the void you could no longer fill. You were non-existent in his eyes, and for once, you are glad, because the other Targaryen brother seems as if he’s in heaven while he feasts upon your breasts like a deprived babe. 

He lets go of your nipple finally, giving the fat of your breast one last kiss before he works his way up to your lips. He unlaces his pants and breeches, urging you to reach and undo his doublet, dropping it down on the pile of clothes. He breaks away to gasp for air while he grabs the back of his linen shirt and stands on his knees stark naked, his cock red, angry, and ready to burst inside you. His mouth shines with drops of your milk and spit.

He grabs the back of your thighs, spreading your legs to his hungry eye, licking his lip as his gaze falls on your soaked cunt. Aemond’s patience runs thinner than before, he moves closer to you, and his hair falls around you like a silver waterfall.

He strokes himself a few times before aligning himself with your entrance, pushing in until his cockhead is inside your warm cunt before he slams all the way into you. He muffles your scream with his own lips, hands coming to rest around your head, caging you under him as he starts thrusting.

Finally, he thinks, finally he has taken something that belonged to his brother, something so precious and fragile. You are nothing like Sylvie, you are soft and delicate, you taste deliciously sweet, and oh so responsive. 

He relishes the way you scratch his back as he fucks you with abandon, snapping his hips into yours furiously as he lets the pent-up anger he feels pour out of him. It is the anger he had inside because of his brother’s idiocy, the words that cut him deep like a sharp dagger.

But no more, no, it is time to take whatever belonged to Aegon. You are just a beautiful touch to it, and he would make sure his brother knows who’s been here, on his bed, giving his wife the pleasure she has never experienced before.

“My queen,” he shushes you, reaching down to collect a drop of your milk before reaching to smear it on your lips, licking it off them. His cock pistoning inside of you quickly, but he is mindful of the baby sleeping on the other side of the privacy screen.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, breasts bouncing with each deep thrust as you try to keep your voice at bay.

He remembers his brother’s words once more; ‘did you fuck her like a hound?’ No, not with the Madame, but he will fuck the queen of the seven Kingdoms like one now.

He pulls out of you, leaving you clenching and whining at the empty feeling before he flips you over on your stomach, pulling your hips up as he spits into his hand and strokes himself before making home inside your tight cunt again, his cock reaching deeper with this position.

You fist the pillows under your hands, biting the fabric to muffle your noises, and Aemond notices that it is your husband’s pillow you are lying on.

He chuckles lowly, one hand gripping the fat of your hip while the other runs down the curve of your spine before he fists your hair in his much larger hand, pushing your head into Aegon’s pillow even more.

“Breathe in his scent while I fuck you like a dog in heat, yes, good girl,” he groans, his limbs tingling with pleasure and anger, letting his emotions take the best of him as he picks up his pace. “Yes, remember how much of a pathetic husband he is, think of how he can never give you pleasure like I can while I fuck my child inside you.”

Tears run down your face from how intense he is taking you from behind, his hips snap into your arse. Your wetness drips down on the bed sheets, but there is little you can do but take what he gives you — a blinding and mind-blowing pleasure you have never had with your husband.

Aemond reaches around your body to find your pearl, rubbing quick and steady circles on the bundle of nerves, leaning down to prep your spine with feather-like kisses, taking in your mesmerizing scent, and looking closer at your tears, taking pure satisfaction in seeing what a mess he has made out of Aegon’s wife, the realm’s queen.

You come with a sob, teeth digging into the soft cushion while your legs shake, walls clamping down against his girth, eliciting a deep throaty moan from him. He lets go of your weeping cunt and grabs your bouncing breast, squeezing the heavy flesh in his hand while his face falters, his thrusts deepen.

When his climax washes over him, it’s all white hot pleasure that rushes through his veins. He shakes atop you while his cock twitches and shoots ropes of his warm spend deep inside you, filling you to the brim. He kisses your tears, his face pushed against your cheek as he lets out broken gasps and groans.

He untangles his fingers from your hair as soon as he calms down from his high, bringing his milk-covered hand to his lips to lick it clean while he meets your eyes.

You look angelic, glowing with the aftermath of your release. The Mother came to life, he thinks.

He pulls out of you gently, minding how sensitive you must feel after the brutality he bestowed upon you. Aemond helps you under the covers, not caring to clean either of you up before he lies down next to you wrapping one arm around you while you curl next to him with your head on his chest.

He notes how quiet you are, drowsy and sleepy in the aftermath of your climax. He takes pride in how peaceful you look, and how good he must have made you feel. His good eye falls on the nightstand on his side, finding his brother — no, the Conqueror's crown — glinting under candlelight.

“I will kill him,” he whispers, “I will make sure our son sits upon that chair and holds Blackfyre. I will kill him, and no one shall ever know it was me.”

[pokechbi]

"I told you not to cum...Didn't I, schatz?"

just a random smut splurge that was on my mind ALL day

(konig x fem reader!)

NSFW !!! MDNI

WC: 1.1k

Fem anatomy used

Your hips spasm against his mouth, your thighs shaking violently as he pumped and curled a thick finger into your sopping pussy, sucking and flicking your clit relentlessly with his tongue. You let yourself in this predicament, sacrificing yourself just for a few seconds of pleasure, letting your orgasm overtake your body when he had specifically ordered you not to. Rookie mistake.

"Was it worth it, du kleine Schlampe?" (you little slut). He lifts from between the lips of your cunt, his lips and jaw soaked with your juices. He'd been down there for an hour and counting, just torturing you. Holding your hips down with his strong arm, the ropes of muscles under his skin flexing every time you moved. He'd quickly slap your clit with an open palm every time you pushed his head away, sending a jolt of electricity through your every nerve and paralyzing you, rendering your fights useless. The stubble on his jaw had rubbed your inner thighs raw, causing the skin to redden and puff with irritation. He looked up at you, eyes gleaming with dominance and power over you. He was loving this. And it sickened you. The thought of having another orgasm made you want to puke, cry, scream, pass out. Your body was spent, sweating heavily and feeling the muscles in your thighs and core burn with overexertion.

"Are you ready to apologize, meine liebe?" He asks, rising to your breasts. His searing breath graze your nipples. They were sore and raw, from him reaching his hand up and pinching the little buds between his fingers while he licked your slit relentlessly. In that moment, your brain was fuzzy, swirling from the multiple orgasms that rattled your soul. "B-but I couldn't hold i-ah!" You yelped as he slammed two of his thick fingers into you, resulting in a stomach-turning squelch that was music to his ears.

"Oh, schatz. Wrong answer. You wanted to cum so bad before, hm? Now I will make you cum until you can't fucking see straight" He grunted, his anger coming from the deep parts of his soul. He began slapping at your clit with an open palm, over and over, the pain causing a distinctive warmth to bubble in your core as your hips jerked with every slap. Tears ran down your cheeks, leaving a stain in their wakes as you fight the oncoming orgasm. You yell out in delicious pain as he pushes his cock into you, not giving you a second to adjust before pounding straight into your cervix. You see red when your eyes flutter closed, slurring and murmuring words from your lips.

"Scheiße, mein lieber, you feel so good. So swollen and wet, milking my fucking cum right out of me." (shit, my dear). He breathes, a throaty chuckle searing the skin of your ear. He grabs your knees, pushing them against your breasts as he pumps deeper into you, your walls swollen and tighter from his viscous, barbarian cock rubbing against them on and off for an hour and some time now. You hated that it felt good. You were on the brink of unconsciousness, but couldn't let go of the feeling of his swollen, throbbing dick meeting resistance against your bulgy, enticing walls. You let out a lazy moan, the sounds coming from you not recognizable to your usual timid whimpers and groans. You gripped the sheets beside you, Konig's hips not letting up as you came close to another orgasm. Your mouth hung open in silence, your voice too raspy and broken to moan anymore. He pressed his forehead against yours, slowing his pace and dragging the throbbing veins on his dick against every single nerve in your cunt. Your core contracts and spasms, another orgasm overtaking your very soul. You whimper quietly, not being able to make a noise as he presses his weight into your thighs, smushing your knees against your tits.

"Verdammter, schatz. Feels so good when your sweet little hole flutters around me like that, yes?" He says, a gentler tone in his voice giving you the pretense that he'll let up on you. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, your lashes fluttering closed and open as you lay limply under him. You had no strength to even grip the sheets anymore, fighting to keep your eyes open as he began to cum himself. "Not gonna ask you again, love. Apologize." He slows his pace, looking down at you as you part your lips to speak.

" 'm sorry daddy. didn't mean 't cum when you..." You sigh heavily, your breath struggling to catch up with your heart. You didn't know if your body was capable of handling another orgasm, and you didn't want to find out. Konig was a big man, and he didn't even look close to tired as he hovered over you, a smug look on his handsome face.

"told me not to. 'm so sorry daddy." You cry, the tears falling down your face, onto the pillow below you. He leans down to your lips, planting a soft kiss on them. He peels the hair from your forehead, slick with sweat. "Such a good girl, schatz." He whispers, pulling out from you, the pressure in your core leaving as you lie there, your head spinning, thighs shaking. He leans between your thighs, pressing a soft kiss onto your swollen clit.

He stands up, smiling down at you as you sniffle. "Let me run my pretty girl a warm bath, yeah?" You nod your head lazily, feeling his thumb over your soft, swollen lips, puffy from crying.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

You sit between Konig's legs in the bath, your back to his chest as he scrubs your skin with your loofah. "I'm sorry, my darling. Look at you, can barely stay awake." You smile lazily, your eyes fluttering closed as the warmth of the bath and his skin caress your naked form. He wraps his arms around you, kissing your neck softly. You rest your head on his chest, looking up at him through your lashes, half lidded with fatigue, and pure, raw love for the man who had just brutalized your very soul.

"I told you not to cum. Didn't I, schatz?"

[frudoo]

Mountain Man!Soap + his very pregnant wifey <3

Warnings: Pregnancy obviously, reader nicks herself on a thorn/blood.

“Ge’ yer arse outta tha’ garden!” Johnny’s frantic voice gets closer and closer, followed by the sound of the back door slamming shut.

You roll your eyes and continue picking the weeds out of your precious vegetable patch, completely unbothered. You’ve been at it all morning and your husband has just now woken up to notice you missing from the bed.

“The kids?” He crouches down beside you, placing a firm hand on your sore lower back.

“Playing over at Kyle’s house,” you reply calmly, leaning forward to pluck a particularly thorny weed from your tomato plant and effectively nicking yourself.

“Steamin’ Jesus, hen,” Johnny grumbles, hooking his arms beneath your armpits and pulling you up to your feet. “Ye’re too pregnant fer this.”

You huff and shove his arms away, ignoring the furrow in his brow and the disapproving whine he lets out. Rubbing your swollen belly, you waddle back towards the house. Johnny’s right on your trail, yelping when you don’t hold the door open for him and it smacks him in the face. That makes a pleased grin curl at the corners of your mouth, even though it gets you an earful from your annoyed husband.

“Ah told ye no’ tae work in the garden when ye’re this- this-”

“This what, Johnny? Huge?” You cock an eyebrow, running your cut under warm water and cleaning all the dirt out of it.

“Ye ken tha’s no’ wha’ ah meant,” Johnny frowns, settling himself behind you and placing his hands under the curve of your belly.

“Sure it- ahh, that’s nice, baby,” you hum in satisfaction when he leans back, holding your belly up and taking so much pressure off of your poor body.

“There’s me sweet gal,” Johnny grins, burrowing his nose into the crook of your neck. “See? Ye dinnae hate me. Ye’re jus’ grumpy from carryin’ mah massive bairns.”

“Shut it,” you mumble with no real hostility, leisurely wrapping a bandage around the cut.

“Mmm, since the kids’re at Garrick’s… how aboot a shower?” Johnny kisses his way up the side of your neck, hands gently releasing your belly so that you’re holding all the weight now.

“Uh-uh. If I’m too pregnant to garden, I’m way too pregnant for whatever it is you have planned.”

“Ye do hate me.”

[patrywoso]

8. Patri Guijarro

+18 SMUT

Patri found her beautiful brat waiting just as instructed. She didn’t miss the devious look on your face.

“Daddy,” you moaned, your face flushed and wild, but Patri silenced her with a look. 

“Are you Daddy’s good girl?” Patri asked quietly, and you lowered your head, shifting your weight from foot to foot. 

“No, Daddy,” you said at last.

“No,” Patri repeated. She cupped you between the legs, watching carefully as your eyes fluttered shut, and your lips parted eagerly. Patri looped her belt around the waiting wrists, holding onto the tail as you trembled.

“Bend over,” Patri said gruffly, and you moaned out loud, you turned around to face the coffee table, wondering how you could hold your position with your hands bound. 

You didn’t have to wonder for long. Patri held the end of the belt aloft, pushing you down until your elbows rested on the table, your wrists useless in the air. Patri kicked your legs wider, exposing your dripping sex. 

“Tell Daddy what you need,” Patri said darkly, demandingly, pressing her palm against your spine until you arched your back like a bow, presenting all your secrets so prettily. 

“Daddy,” you whimpered, your skin prickling beneath Patri’s touch. “I did all my chores for you, Daddy. I kept my nipples hard for you all day so they would be sore and tender for your touch. I touched my naughty pussy for you, Daddy, and imagined sucking your cock. I was so good for you, Daddy.”

“But?”

“But I didn’t just imagine it,” you admitted, flushing. “I sucked your strap without permission and humped my pillow while thinking of you.”

“And did you come, my girl?” Patri said possessively. 

“Yes, Daddy. I came all over my pillow with your strap in my mouth, pretending it was you using my throat. I was so bad, Daddy.”

“That you were,” Patri agreed, trailing her fingers through the pooling arousal trapped between your swollen lips. “A very bad girl.”

You keened, pushing your body back against Patri’s solid form. The fingers disappeared, gripping your hair by the root instead.

“What happens to bad girls, my love?” Patri asked, pulling your head back until you raised to your tiptoes. “Hmm? What happens to bad girls who misbehave?”

“They get punished,” you said breathily. “Please…”

“Corner,” Patri commanded, bodily turning you toward the bed with a swat. You scampered into position, clasping your hands together in front of yourself. The solid weight of the belt on your wrists kept you grounded in place; thoughts weren’t needed. You leaned into submission like a warm embrace.

“Spread your legs,” Patri commanded, and you eagerly complied. You felt Patri’s hands at the button of your jeans; felt the zipper slide, and then denim pooled around your ankles and a large palm cupped your pussy through your panties. 

“Who does this belong to?” Patri growled softly, squeezing you possessively. “Whose cunt is this?”

“Yours, Daddy,” You breathed, jerking your hips into the touch. Patri’s thumb pressed into the seam of your lips barely held back through the cotton, and you whimpered as your own wetness soaked through.

“I think you need to be punished, little girl,” Patri crooned, letting her free hand wander the expanse of your chest. She pinched one nipple, delighting in the gasp it drew your lips. “You’re going to put yourself over my knee and count your licks, won’t you?”

“Make me.”

The words hung in the air only a moment before you were moving; twisting and writhing away from Patri’s grasp, tripping over your own feet to scramble onto the bed, tucking yourself beneath the pillows as best you could with your wrists bound together. Patri laughed darkly, letting the heaviness of her boots on the floor build tension as she stalked over to her prey, easily grabbing you by the ankle. Patri dragged your body out from under the pillows, sending them flying in all directions, and allowed you a few moments to buck and kick wildly before silencing you with a flurry of sharp swats to your seat. 

“Cute tantrum,” Patri said, a dark grin shining on her face. You aimed a kick at her chest, but Patri caught the offending foot and flipped you onto your back. You squealed as Patri’s thumbs looped through the waistband of your panties, dragging them slowly down your hips. Your face flushed with adrenaline and arousal, and you wanted, needed, everything Patri could give you.

“Oh, I’ll give you what you need,” Patri said, reading your mind. “But first, I’m going to whip you with my belt.”

You let out a guttural moan as your bound wrists were freed, only to be secured to the headboard with padded cuffs. Patri took her time doubling the belt and smacked it twice against her palm. You jumped at the noise, eyes wide and glassy. 

“Legs up,” Patri commanded, and you whimpered in humiliation as you assumed the embarrassing position. Patri wrapped her left arm around your shins, lifting you up higher until the base of your spine left the bed. 

Leather cracked against your ass, and you yelped and wiggled at the sting. Patri’s grip on your legs tightened, and you found yourself exposed to the belt’s bite no matter how hard you struggled. The more you squirmed away, the tighter Patri held you raised your legs, and spanked you. 

When your ass glowed dusky pink with several defined red welts, Patri paused. 

“Spread them,” she said, her face stern.

“Noo,” you whined, kicking your legs petulantly as soon as Patri let go of your ankles. “Daddy, no! I don’t want a spanking there.”

“You’re getting a spanking there,” Patri said firmly, slapping the belt against her palm. “Bad girls who disobey and tell their Daddy ‘no’ get spanked where it helps them the most, don’t they?”

You wailed at the unfairness of it all and you kicked your legs and pulled at your cuffs, but no amount of tantrum could change Patri’s mind. Patri waited patiently until you settled down.

“Spread your legs,” Patri said firmly, and you obeyed with a cry.

Patri loved the sight of you on your back with your legs spread wide, your perfect pussy glistening on display. Patri paused for a moment to admire the way your dark curls framed your vulva; the way your labia spread just enough to show a pool of arousal peeking through your folds. Creamy and ready for Patri’s fingers and tongue and thick silicone cock.

But first, it needed her belt.

Patri aimed carefully, letting the leather lightly slap at the sensitive flesh between your legs. You struggled to keep yourself spread apart, your legs squeezing together twice when the belt struck down more firmly than you anticipated. When Patri decided you were warmed up enough, she pinned down your right leg with her palm.

“Bad girls get punished,” Patri said, emphasizing each word with increasingly hard strokes from the belt. you wailed openly, thrusting your hips into each stinging lash. Patri’s palm cupped the heat of your swollen labia and gently massaged the flesh, enjoying the way your eyes glazed over; the hitch in your chest when the heel of Patri’s palm ground against your clit.

“Now,” Patri said, slowly massaging your pussy in her large hand. “I think you’re going to be a good girl and put yourself over my knee. And you’ll count your spanks like a good girl for me, won’t you?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you breathed, licking your lips. You rolled your hips against Patri’s palm, closing your eyes at the sensation. “I would be a good girl… your best girl…”

“Good girl,” Patri praised, patting your throbbing cunt a final time. “When I unhook your cuffs, you’re going to march over to the spanking chair to wait for me, won’t you? You aren’t going to try to run again?”

“Promise,” you whined desperately. “Daddy, please, I want to be good..”

“Good girl,” Patri repeated, running her fingernails across your ribs. “Let’s get these cuffs off.”

You took a moment to rub your wrists before rolling over to rub your ass. You squeezed your legs together, savoring the burn between them. Patri raised an eyebrow, and you obediently slid from the bed and padded across the room to the sturdy wooden chair near the fireplace. 

Patri made you wait. She took her time rolling up her sleeves and refastening her belt. She watched you eye the fireplace, your cheeks flushed, and she knew you remembered why she kept the chair there for a reason.

Last winter, Patri had paddled you hard and made you stand with your back to a roaring fire, letting the heat from the fire intensify the burn in your sore ass until you begged and begged and sucked Patri’s strap in penance until your throat was raw. It was blisteringly hot for both of them. Even in the sweltering summer months, she caught you staring openly at the fireplace with longing in your eyes.

You glanced at Patri’s face, and you both shared a tender look. Your shoulders relaxed, your heart fluttering pleasantly in your chest. Patri strode across the room and pulled you into a hug so fierce and tight that your body felt limp in her grip. 

“You’re mine, baby girl,” Patri muttered into the crown of your hair. “You’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you repeated, letting yourself be surrounded by Patri’s warmth. 

“Should we skip this and go straight to the bed?” Patri asked, half-hazy with her need to utterly rail you into the mattress. 

“No,” you said firmly, humming into the bulk of Patri’s shoulder. “Please, Daddy. I want to be your good girl.”

“Over my knees, sweetheart,” Patri said, squeezing you a final time before letting go. “You’re going to count for me, baby.”

“Yes Daddy,” you sighed, waiting as Patri took her seat before lowering yourself across Patri’s muscular thighs. You adjusted your hips, letting yourself dangle freely over her lap. You moaned at your own vulnerability; goosebumps rose on your skin as Patri tenderly rubbed your tender skin.

“Ready?” Patri asked.

“Ready,” you confirmed. You yelped at the first spank, not expecting the force behind Patri’s palm. “One, Daddy.”

“Good girl,” Patri hummed, matching the intensity as she brought her palm down against your other cheek.

“Two,” you gasped, wiggling. “Three. Four, S- Five, Six, S-Seven, E- oww!”

You scissored your legs, trying desperately not to kick your feet up. You held onto Patri’s jeans like a lifeline, afraid to throw your hand back in a moment of weakness.

“N-Nine, Ten, ‘leven, ‘welve, f-fuck, Th-Thirteen. Fourteen,” you wailed, tears dripping down the tip of your nose to puddle on the floor. “Fifteen, Sixt- teen, S-Seventeeeeen.”

“Almost there,” Patri said, landing several hard spanks in a row. She knew you were close; so close, so ready. She heard the subtle change in your voice as you cried out.

“Eigh’een, Nine’een, Twenny, Twennyone, ‘ennytwo, ‘enny’ree, Daddy, please,” you keened, falling blissfully limp across Patri’s knees. You felt your body rock with each spank as you dutifully counted out the last seven swats. “‘nyfour, ‘nyfive, ‘ysix, Daddy, fuck me, please! Twenty-Seven, Twenty-Eight, Daddy, oww! Twenty-Niiiine, Daddy, please! Thiiiirtyyyy!”

“There’s my good girl,” Patri soothed, pulling you up onto her lap. She stroked your back and rocked you as you fell into that wonderful, blissful place that made you soft and easy. Your lips pressed against Patri’s neck, and your tongue darted out to lick a bead of sweat, Patri held you close and thought you were the most beautiful woman in the entire world. “What do you say?”

“I’m sorry for being a bad girl, Daddy,” you sighed, her voice contrite and watery. You nuzzled your face against Patri’s neck. “Please, will you fuck me?”

“I suppose,” Patri teased, patting your thigh. “Since you took your punishment so nicely. Go and get the strap ready.”

You kissed her cheek sweetly and slid off her lap, and Patri watched your rosy ass jiggle as you moved to grab the harness. Patri stood and stretched casually, noticing with pleasure how your lips parted at the flex of her biceps. 

“Hands and knees,” Patri commanded, watching you eagerly obey. Your legs spread easily, pussy dripping and ready for Patri’s strap. Warmth flooded Patri’s body as she dropped her pants and boxers, tightening the straps of the harness while you waited for her touch. 

“Please, please,” you murmured, looking over your shoulder at Patri. Her dark eyes sparkled with mischief. “Please, I need it, I need you. Daddy, your cock, please. I want it!”

“Impatient,” Patri smirked, swatting your ass. “Maybe Daddy wants to tease you first.”

“Noo,” you whined, shimmying your hips from side to side. “Don’t tease me!”

Patri pulled your hips back to the edge of the bed, gently stroking her cock through the wetness gathered between your thighs. She pulled your labia apart with her thumbs, letting the ridged edge of her silicone cock drag along your vulva. She teased the entrance to your pussy until you fell to your elbows, your face buried in your pillow.

“Inside, Daddy, inside!” you moaned, desperately trying to grind down on Patri’s cock. Patri slapped your ass again for good measure.

“You’ll take it when I’m ready for you,” Patri said, letting her voice drop in pitch. You arched your back, gripping the pillow in both fists. “Be a good girl for Daddy.”

“I need it,” you tried, yelping again as Patri’s palm struck your thigh. 

“Naughty,” Patri purred, delighting in the sloppy noises from your cunt as the cock plunged between your thighs, never quite going where you wanted it most. “Maybe I should keep doing this for hours. Teach you a lesson in patience, little girl.”

“I learned my lesson,” you fussed, spreading your legs wider. Patri had to stifle her own moan as your lips parted further; your cute little asshole twitched with every movement. Your cunt looked warm and inviting, and Patri wanted nothing more than to take you apart piece by piece.

“And what did you learn?” Patri asked, regaining her ability to talk. She pulled her cock away from your body, leaving you soaked and desperate. “Did you learn to be patient for Daddy?”

“Yes,” you panted, swaying your hips. “I’ll never suck your strap without permission again, Daddy. I’ll be your good girl and keep my body ready for you, only you.”

“Well, then,” Patri hummed, lining up her cock with your dripping pussy. “I suppose you have learned your lesson.”

Sinking into the warm slick heat between your legs never grew old. Patri loved the way your muscles squeezed her cock; the long, low, breathy noise that fell from your mouth like a sigh of relief. She loved the way you squealed when she fucked you fast and hard; the way you moaned and gasped when she slowed the rhythm and focused on grinding against you in just the right way. Your pussy was a treasure, and Patri knew how to wring every ounce of pleasure from it.

“Daddy!” you cried, thrusting your hips back to greet each movement of silicone inside your cunt. “More, more, mo- ohh!”

Patri’s hips pistoned inside you, pulling you over the edge. Instead of backing off, Patri grabbed your right leg and pulled it over her shoulder to get a deeper angle, dragging you down onto each thrust until you were screaming and screaming and coming all over the sheets, it was beautiful and you were beautiful, you were beautiful together.

When your body finally fell limp and fully fucked-out, Patri let the harness drop to the floor, spreading her naked body across yours like a blanket. You sank blissfully into the mattress beneath your partner’s weight, and Patri held you close kissed your neck, and told you you were beautiful.

“Tell me I’m your good girl,” you said at last, and Patri could hear the smile in your voice. 

“You’re my good girl,” Patri said. “My best girl. My sweet princess.”

[ymiko0]

A/n: request! I had to delete the draft so I unfortunately dont have the ask...but I do remember what the ask is about!

Tags: breeding, creampie, afab!reader, mating press (guess my fave position lol), mentions of pregnancy, unprotected sex (I dont condone this action),

He grips your thighs harder, your knees almost touching your ears as he continues to drill in you. Your eyes swelling up with tears and sobs escaping your sore throat.

Dazai moaned, unrestrained as he kept slamming his hips against yours, his balls slapping against your slicked bum, the air filled with the smell of arousal and wet slaps.

He loved the way you felt around him, your walls fluttering around his shaft, providing the warmth he oh so longed for. He cages you between his arms, placing his weight on you as he pounded into you with much more fervor.

He cant stop— he doesn't wanna stop. The feeling of needing to fill you up everytime just grows as he does so.

Dazai was never a man who wanted children, he thinks it's a ridiculous idea for a man like him to have offsprings.

Thats why when you asked him to cum inside you— he hesitated. He was afraid of what might come after. The thought of having children scares him.

" O-oh..! Fuck—! "

But your reassurance gave him the push to spill inside you.

And he was ecstatic.

His eyes rolled back as his hips stuttered and jittered, it felt amazing. Filling you up while feeling your walls clamp around him was euphoric.

Is this why some people loved to have children so much? Because he sure is convinced. This practice made him feel so much closer to you, he grew to love it so much to the point that he doesnt waste his release anymore,

He wants it inside.

—his excuse? Lesser mess.

" Haah..— oh fuck—, fuck, fuck, fuck—! " he let out breathy moans, he was nearing his release again.

" ah—! O-osam—..h! "

you interrupted yourself as you felt him rub your clit, your legs shaking from his hold as his pace began to loose consistency.

He kissed your swollen, red lips, a subtle action thanking you for this moment.

" Oh! Fuck— fuck fuck! y-y/n! Oh gosh you're so— "

You felt his pace falter and hips shake, he let go of you legs and placed them on his shoulder, kissing you once again as he stilled inside you, deep and felt his essence paint your insides.

He stilled his hips against your entrance, still folded in half and still clinging onto him.

You both bask in the aftermath of the climax, feeling his cum spill out of your abused hole, muttering a few words of praises against your ear.

But after a few seconds of composing himself, he began slowly rolling his hips again.

he whispered to your ear as he began to pick up his pace.

" ....just one more yea? Bella'? "

Hes addicted.

A/n: I personally think dazai doesnt want children...but would think about it if his spouse wants them! Very ooc as usual h a h a.

Fuck counter: 8

[go6jo]

(one can only truly feel with their eyes closed) s.gojo

it’s three in the morning and satoru is standing outside your bedroom door, pinching his bottom lip in between his fingers while anxiously awaiting your arrival. you should’ve been back before midnight and there is something unfamiliar stirring inside him, something that is rendering him restless. there is a heavy lump on his throat that is making it hard to swallow and he can feel himself starting to feel sick.

satoru was born bearing the curse of atlas, the world weighing a little too heavy on his shoulders ever since he was little. the body of a child is a frail one and satoru had been too scrawny at the time, bones too fragile to handle all of that weight by himself. he’d fallen on his knees one too many times and had struggled to stand up on his own until he had grown to become something akin to a god, one who barely even knew fear. 

satoru reaches for the phone in the pocket of his sweatpants, waiting for something, a call, a text even - anything to let him know that you’re okay.

however, his head is quick to turn at the sound of heavy footsteps echoing throughout the entire floor when he catches sight of your silhouette emerging from the shadows on the other end of the poorly lit hall. he feels his heart cave in on his chest for you, eyes softening and full of compassion when he notices the sole of your feet dragging laboriously against the floor, weary and sore after being away for so long and having just traveled all the way back here, back to him. 

ten days to be precise. that's how long you’ve been gone. and when you manage to make your way along the seemingly endless corridor, so very tired from your lengthy mission overseas, satoru can visibly see your body cease its fight against gravity as you let yourself collapse into him. he is so quick to guide your arms that had fallen limp by your sides to wrap themselves around him, pulling you closer, craving the proximity after having longed for your touch every day for the past week and a half. he follows it by looping his stronger ones around you, offering you the stability you need, holding you and welcoming you back with a quiet good girl whispered to the crown of your head. 

in the quietude of the moment, while trying to recover from the fretful state he had induced himself into, satoru realizes now that fear has become a constant in his life.

“you’re late” he threads his fingers through your hair, soothing away your fatigue though he thinks he might have just lulled you to sleep because you’re standing so still, breathing so softly. at your lack of response, his hand cups the back of your head tilting it upwards and your lips begin to part, ready to protest but it’s only then, when you meet his gaze, that you become aware of the distress graven on his handsome features, brows furrowed and bottom lip swollen with the indents of his remaining anxiety, teeth merciless as they tried to chew away the nerves in his system.

satoru is always so good at hiding his feelings. he might’ve been terrified out of his mind, but hardly anything gives it away. his voice never wavers when he speaks and his hands have such a steady grip on you that his inner turmoil would’ve almost gone undetected. almost. because concern is so easily discernible in his eyes - his eyes are so honest, as honest as satoru gets. they have always let on more than his words — they’re his biggest strength and yet his biggest weakness, his blindfold keeping any vulnerability from seeping through.

“i know but i'm here” you close your eyes when his thumb rubs the spot between your eyebrows “my flight got delayed and i didn’t wanna wake you up with a phone call”

“i wasn’t sleeping” not until i know you’re safe.

“i’m alright, satoru. im here” you two speak in whispers like two kids sharing a secret, your voice barely audible as you lean your cheek against his chest, a hand rubbing circles over his heart.

a placid wave of silence envelops the two of you in its calm embrace as you take your time to touch, to grab and to squeeze — to let your hands get acquainted with each other’s skin again — you swear you feel him shiver against you, when you caress the skin behind his ear, where you know it’s sensitive.

“let’s get inside, baby.”

you nod against his chest and squeeze him in your arms one last time before you pull away to unlock your bedroom door. you lace your fingers together with his and pull him along, dropping your luggage somewhere in a corner and not even bothering to turn on the lights instead guiding him towards the bed that you’ve shared during so many other nights before — so eager to be cradled in his arms, to drift off in the warmth of his presence. but when satoru drops his head to your shoulder from behind, you halt all movements, stopping in your tracks.

he doesn’t say a word, just moves the palm of his hand gingerly up the skin of your exposed arm, only stopping where the strap of your dress sits on your body, gripping the fabric in his fist, begging to see you, whole. to make sure there is not some invisible force holding you together and that you won't fall apart under his fingers. he still touches you so carefully as if you will.

for a long time now, satoru has worried that the eyes he has relied on throughout his entire life might fail him sooner rather than later. reality can be deceiving and he has grown to harbor a certain skepticism towards it. after all, his best friend had met his demise at his own two hands, had taken his last breath in his arms, however, that unfaithful day in shibuya there he stood, intact - alive. satoru is now imbedded with a constant feeling of uncertainty, doubting what otherwise he would’ve believed to be the undeniable truth.

you lift your hand to rest over his, loosening the grip he has on the fabric of your garment before you slide both straps off your shoulders, letting your dress fall to the ground and revealing your partially nude body to satoru’s prying gaze. he closes his eyes with a sigh that makes the hairs on the back of your neck raise in anticipation. he brushes a few strands away before he presses a kiss to the mound of your neck where your spine protrudes your flesh, where your skin is most tender and delicate, feeling the subtle bumps of your skin against his lips — the way your body reacts to him proof that you’re not just some hallucination. that you’re here. that you’re alive and well. 

he figures he is so much more in tune with his surroundings whenever he’s not looking. his eyes are closed shut yet the way you shudder under him when he runs the tip of his finger up the curve of your spine, the little sounds you make, the gasp that unintentionally escapes your lips when he lays the most gentle of kisses on the shell of your ear — he’d know you anywhere, even with his eyes closed. he knows the way you feel, the way you sound, the way you smell. even blind, his other four senses would still lead him to you.

he touches you until your skin starts feeling feverish under his fingers, wishes you’d just melt into him and would fill in every crevice in his body until he’s so completely covered in you he can barely breathe. and when he needs more, he carries you to bed in his arms then lies you down in the white linen sheets. he reaches for the back of his shirt and tugs it off before taking the spot next to you, yearning for the feeling of his skin against yours.

he kisses your collarbone, left then right, worshiping you whole, paying equal attention to every part of your body, then dips lower to kiss over your sternum. he loves on the freshly inflicted wounds on your skin then proceeds to run his tongue over the newly healed scar that runs diagonally on the flesh of your stomach — your taste, that, too, he has memorized by heart.

“i always come back looking worse than when i left” and it's supposed to be a lighthearted joke because you're smiling and your tone is somewhat playful but it makes satoru wonder if you think he loves you any less because of it.

sometimes it’s hard baring yourself to satoru like this, he knows it. your scar ridden body a striking contrast to his almost pristine, untouched one. however, it’s on nights like this one where you feel closest to him, laying bare your insecurities to him and, in return, he entrusts you with his — more often than not as he impulsively lets them escape his lips in the form of strangled moans against the sweaty skin of your neck, telling you he loves you. don’t ever leave. i don’t know what i’d do if i lost you, too.

“you returned, baby. that’s all that matters.” he utters against your belly then comes to rest on your chest, ear pressed atop your heart.

satoru has grown fond of the sound of your pulse lulling him to sleep, slow and steady. he unwraps his arms from around you, moving his hands up your sides until they settle around your ribs, feeling the way your lungs fill up with air, his head moving up and down, in sync with your heaving chest. he smiles fondly to himself, every heartbeat, every breath you take a reminder of the life flowing inside you.

he looks up, eyes searching for your face after a few minutes have gone by since you stopped playing with his hair. he had wanted to protest but then he takes in the image of you, mouth slightly agape, a subtle frown on your face — an angel lying under him. so fragile, so innocent.

you're sound asleep and satoru is overcome with the intensity of the sheer adoration he feels towards you when he comes to the realization that you had felt so at peace in his arms it had only taken you a couple minutes to doze off. it is as if your body reacts to his presence on its own, telling you that it's okay to let your guard down, that it’s safe around him. to him, there is no bigger privilege than to know his touch brings you such tranquility — that he’s your safe haven.

upon further inspection, however, as his eyes linger on you for a little longer, there’s a cold shiver that makes its way up satoru’s spine when he notices how still you are, barely even moving. apart from the subtle rise and fall of your chest, you’re so inert, so lethargic. so lifeless.

and suddenly it is as if there is not enough oxygen in the room as he finds himself gasping for air, lungs growing heavier by the minute as he starts to drown in mirages of your inanimate body in his arms, hands clammy and fingers digging into the flesh of your ribs instinctively, out of desperation, as if he’s trying to stay afloat.

he calls out your name once, and he would’ve felt bad for waking you up but, right now, he can’t even seem to think straight. he could be so selfish at times still you never resented him for it. so he calls for you again.

you don’t answer at first, his voice too weak to even pull you out of sleep. satoru hoists himself up on the bed, lying sideways next to you, his body looming over yours as he brushes the strands of hair that are sticking to your forehead away from your face — your complexion looks so much paler under the moonlight.

“baby.” he calls in between heavy breaths, eyes frantic searching for something. anything. this time you stir in your sleep, turning around and nuzzling into the crook of his neck as if seeking for the heat of his body on instinct alone. he sighs releasing some of the tension inside him “baby.” though there is still a hint of urgency in his voice.

“im sleepy, satoru” he can barely hear you as you bury yourself deeper into his neck.

“i know, baby. i know” he tries to soothe you, cradling your head closer to him but pulling you away from him just as quick, grabbing your cheeks in between the palms of his hands and gently holding your head up to take a look at you instead. your eyes remain closed, still so heavy with sleep.

“just need you to say my name.” it sounds like a desperate plea.

“satoru.” you barely even manage to mumble as you lean deeper into his touch, lips brushing against the sensitive skin on the inside of his hand. moving only on instinct still, too drowsy to even make sense of what is happening, to notice his agony.

“that’s it.” he pecks you on the lips “again.” he is trailing kisses across your cheeks, his breath heavy on your skin when he begs you in a quivering voice “please."

the feeling of his hands shivering against you it’s what gradually rouses you, opening your eyes only to be met with his wide-eyed gaze, pupils fully blown out in the dark, alert with fear.

you know how he gets, it isn’t the first time this happens yet it never fails to alarm you. you’d seen it in his eyes many times before and you’d seen it again earlier tonight, when you arrived, tenuous yet just waiting for the smallest trigger to so easily turn into something out of control.

it's as if he's suddenly put in a trance and nobody can pull him out of it. his hands start wandering everywhere and in a rather frenetic way, feeling around your skin as if he has gone blind. hands fumbling to hold whatever is within their reach, clenching whatever it is you're wearing in his fists, searching for something that you can’t quite understand.

you never know what to say, you can only hold him in hopes it will pass. you hold him and coddle him, whisper words of reassurance in his ear in hopes that you can be as much of a source of comfort to him as he is to you.

he apologizes afterwards, he always does. apologizes for needing you so much that sometimes it drives him close to insanity. then he always whispers a thank you from under his breath, thank you for letting me rely on you, but he barely ever does, only when he so desperately needs it — when it’s him lending others his strength, being relied on, who says thank you to him.

you sit up in bed, extending your hand towards him, waiting for him to take it. you pick him up when he does and you let a hand wrap around the back of his head, guiding him to rest on your shoulder.

“satoru, satoru, satoru.” you whisper against the shell of his ear while stroking his hair. he thinks he could fall sleep right here, like this.

please, lean on me, too.

i got you, you don’t have to be strong all the time.

 if you let me, i can be strong for the both of us. satoru thinks he knows what you’re trying to tell him.

“i’ll say it as many times as you need.”

once again, he is so overwhelmed by his profound infatuation that it is as if his love has grown a will of its own, as if it has grown fangs when his teeth sink, unwarranted, into the skin of your shoulder, love wishing to seep itself deep into your bloodstream. “want you whole.”

“so greedy.” you wince quietly, nonchalantly against his snowy hair and he runs the tip of his nose up the side of your neck.

he keeps on nibbling on the tender skin of your jaw, as if he’s hungry and trying to prove a point. that if he so wished to, if he was greedy enough, vile enough, he’d devour you full.

“i'm the greediest, baby” for what is love if not greed. is it not wanting to consume the other person and let yourself be consumed in return? for his entire life, satoru has known nothing but an insatiable hunger. always wanting more, always needing more. gluttonous for more, more, more. in the end, he always managed to get what he wants and he doesn’t hold back, you never asked him to either.

he knows he owns you wholly, that you placed your soul, mind and body fully on the palm of his hand and he doesn’t think he could ever settle for less. doesn’t think his hunger would ever be satiated with less than a handful of you.

he places a trail of kisses that goes down to your shoulder again and he pulls away from your skin with one last kiss to the spot where he left a mark. a mark that is so unlike any other in your body. one that comes from love.

“i'm sorry that i need you so much” he envelops you in the tightest of embraces, touching his heart with yours.

he wishes you understand that he’s apologizing for so many other things, too. he’s sorry that he can’t give himself to you the same way you’ve given yourself to him. you’ve always kept your heart so willingly open to him yet it seems that he only ever allows you a glimpse into the heart inside his chest on nights like this, when fear holds him in it’s strong, relentless grip or when he’s falling apart at the feeling of being inside in you, body panting above yours, too lost in his own pleasure. only then does he allow himself to be vulnerable with you, spilling all of his heart's content into your distracted ears — when he thinks you’re far too gone to listen, to truly acknowledge his feelings — but you treasure every single moment of fragility of his, for they are so scarce, listening attentively even when he thinks you don’t.

“say my name one last time” he breathes against your ear.

here, in these sheets, satoru pretends to forget his name and the burden that inescapably comes with it. he forgets the world needs him and lets himself need you instead, just this once. — just this once, he’ll pretend to be the weak one, the one who needs saving and finds a shelter in your arms.

“satoru…” your words are spoken barely above a whisper, like they’re meant just for him.

“again” he connects his lips with yours and holds the back of your neck with one hand, the other resting on your lower back for support as he dips both of you down onto the mattress.

and you say it. again. and then again. not because he asks you to but because satoru knows how to get what he wants. he pries his name out of your lips as he trails open mouthed kisses down the valley of your breasts, forces it out of you in the form a laughter as he nibbles on the inside of your thighs, tickling you with his breath and ultimately earns it in moan that you cry as a prayer when he sinks down on the mattress and makes a home in between your legs — until you're chanting his name over and over again, sobbing that you love him, you love him, you love him.

he smiles to himself, does it half smugly, half earnestly. satoru is now twenty eight and his shoulders a little lighter, the world fitting all too perfectly in this queen sized bed.

[silkbab3y]

Im so SO sorry 💗

Snippet: Rosie and Ren woohooing but she didn't moan his name. Oops!! DISCLAIMER: They are NOT in an established relationship in this. Ren and Teo are from @14dayswithyou Nsfw fic below (DNI if below 18!!!)

"Ngh... ah..." "Hah..."

The bed creaked and groaned under the shifting weight of Ren on top of her, Rosie's bangs clinging onto her sweat-covered forehead. Slender fingers bunch up the fabric of his sweater's sleeves and her legs clenching around his hips before wrapping around completely. Her head was buzzing, the hours dragged by as her sore body took each and every thrust the taller man gave to her. And she took it so well, so eagerly, confirmed by Ren's sweet praises and gentle touches to her face in contrast to the rough snaps of his hips. Another sweet spot kissed by his tip has her back arching off the bed, lips parted in a strained moan before she lets a name slip from her kiss-swollen lips.

*And it wasn't Ren's name.*

"T--eo--" Just those two syllables had her senses come back full time, brown eyes widening and a hand slapping to her mouth as she stared up at Ren. He stared down at her with an unreadable expression.

"I, um--" Oops. To say she had things complicated with Teo was only one-sided. Feelings for a man with no sense of commitment left the girl stringing herself along like a lost puppy. That was why she agreed to hang out with Ren, to be with Ren, to *fuck* Ren. It wasn't like they were dating though... but that didn't help her case at all, nor the guilt and shame that crawled up her spine. "Sorry, I don't know what came over me--" Yes she did, she absolutely knew what came over her. 

"You're thinking 'bout him?" And so did Ren it seems. The man could read her like an open book– like she had the audacity to even feign ignorance. Was it that obvious? 

Before Rosie could explain herself; apologize, hide her shame and pray for a hole to open up and eat her alive-- anything, Ren had grabbed her thighs, pushing them closer to her body until her knees met her shoulders. "Hold on-- I didn't mean to, really-- ah!" The girl throws her head back into the pillow as he slams his hip down, feeling his cock (AAAH) reach places deeper than before. 

"Ren!" She croaks out, her hands shooting to the large pillow under her head, yanking at the plush as he slowly pulls out until just the tip is left inside, before *sloooowly* pushing back in. *Oh god.* Rosie lets out a desperate whine at the achingly slow pace he had set, like he was trying to make sure her cunt (AAAAAAAAH) remembered the shape of him. He continues this rhythm, slow and deep that drives Rosie wild and near the edge.

"There you go," he hums, leaning down to nip at her earlobe, the sounds of her needy cries filling him with pride. "That's my name, angel... say it again,"

"Ren--" "Again." Another whine rips from her as her gummy walls flutter around him, signalling her approaching orgasm. "Say it again, angel and I'll let you cum." His hips barely move, almost as if he was ready to stop if she didn't. "Pleeease," Rosie begs so sweetly, her chest heaving with ragged breath, her hand coming up to the back of his neck to grip the collar of his turtle neck. "Please, Ren-- I can't--" 

"Good girl." Jerking her hips up to grab onto her better, moving one palm up to the back of her knee-- Ren picked up his pace, angling to hit her sensitive spots repeatedly until she finally came undone. With a relieved mewl, Rosie's grip on his sweater tightens as does the knot in her stomach before it finally releases, her cunt clamping down his cock once more. And as a shaky sigh escapes Rosie, eyes half-lidded and in a daze, Ren softens his touches and cold lips presses against her forehead in approval. 

"Such a good girl."

____

"That's one pesky bug," Rosie internally groans, her nail tapping at the counter as she debates on turning around or not. Not like she had to when the suave and raspy voice belonged to the very man who owned her thoughts, her attention, her heart. "Should really see a doctor for that."

"Do you need something, Teo?" She questions, her tone coming out a bit snappier. Shit. Rosie hadn't meant for it to come out so… bitchy, but she was running on 2 hours of sleep from last night and wasn’t ready to face him. “Ouch,” Teo moves to be across from her, classic Teo, needing to have her full attention. “I’m a little hurt, starshine.” He tilted his head, and Rosie’s eyes couldn’t meet his that trailed over the marks littering her tan skin. “You had fun, dollface?” Ugh. Him and those damn pet names that had her heart skip, her stomach flutter. Rosie huffs, putting on her best smile as she sheepishly tugs at her stylish top that did her no justice in covering the love marks Ren had left. “Yeah,” she answers after a beat passes, trying to not lower her head in embarrassment. It came so easily to her with anyone else, anyone that wasn’t Teo. “I did actually, thank you for asking, bookie.” She snickers at his eye roll, but the quirk of his lips makes her heart leap. “I bet I can be more fun,” Oh. Suddenly the reminder of how she was taken so well and wholly last night came to her when she felt her inner thighs ache. Her whole body really…

Inside, she was ready to accept his offer without missing a beat, but Rosie knew better than to do that. Come off as desperate? Urgh… With a slow breath out of her nose, she raises an eyebrow as she studies the man. “Really?” Really. “Well, sucks for you– I’m not really up to getting my guts rearranged a second night in a row,” she snorts, her smile forming more naturally this time. Teo shoulders jerk slightly in a silent laugh as he props his head up with a hand. “Doesn’t have to be tonight, dollface. I already got plans.” It takes Rosie everything to not sigh in disappointment. “Text me when you do feel like rearranging those pretty guts again, Rosie.” Rosie stands there as Teo pats the counter before taking his leave, spacing out as she tries to process his words. Not even when Elanor calls out for her does she react, not until she finally comes to her senses, excusing herself to slink off to the break room. She needs a fucking nap.

[mellowswriting]

Can I request jealous/possessive Din 🥺 and maybe some smut that ends with gooood aftercare?? (absolutely love your acct btw!)

all mine

pairing || Din Djarin x fem!Reader

word count || 2.5k

summary || After a successful bounty hunt, Din feels the need to remind you just who you belong to.

content || no use of Y/N, SMUT, fingering, manhandling, rough sex, possessive!Din, unprotected sex, two idiots in loooooove, very fluffy and lovey ending

a/n || me, writing another weirdly poetic smut fic? entirely unsurprising. thank you for the request, anon!

Din Masterlist | Main Masterlist

You really should have known. The moment you mentioned using yourself as a lure to draw the mark away from his guards, you could feel the heat of Din’s gaze burning into you. You knew he wouldn’t like it. The potential danger alone was enough to have him flat-out rejecting the idea altogether but after days of no progress, everyone knew it was the only viable plan. It took less than an hour for your allure to coax the man away from his protective guard. It was worth it, even if you had to deal with the disgusting feeling of his hand at the small of your back for a few moments. 

The relief of finally securing the bounty was short-lived. Din’s tension was unmistakable. The leather of his gloves squeaked with every clench of his fists. He constantly wedged his body closer to yours the moment anyone grew close. His presence was omnipresent, a constant looming over your shoulder. You brushed it off as the stress of a long mission or the adrenaline-driven instinct to keep you safe. 

It isn’t until you’re pinned against the soft mattress by Din’s unbreakable strength that you realize you might have misread the situation. The tension finally snapped the moment he got you alone. The blunt edge of his teeth sinks into your neck and forces a broken sound out of your chest, but he doesn’t let up. His fingers dig harder into your hips to fight off your squirming.

“Fuck, Din.” You tug him back by his hair and the sight he makes sends a thrill of lust arcing through your belly. Those pretty brown eyes are bright with a near fanatical need. His lips are slick and a little swollen from the rough kisses. Every breath leaves him in a jagged rush as if the simple act of holding himself back has left him breathless. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

Din forces a deep breath into his lungs, his nostrils flaring as he grapples with his self-control. His voice is low and tinged with danger as he murmurs, “He put his fucking hands on you.”

The statement is so simple for something that rocks through you so hard. Pure possessiveness curls through the deep tenor of his voice. It doesn’t matter that neither of you has slept much in the last few days or that both of your bodies are tense and sore. That tone is enough to have a new surge of energy rushing through your veins. You can’t help the teasing grin that forms on your face. 

“Oh… are you jealous, Din?” Your voice lilts playfully - and Din is having none of it.

“Can’t be jealous if you’re already mine, can I?” He bites out harshly. The sudden loss of his weight pinning you to the bed has you huffing in disappointment, but he doesn’t give you long to be upset. Both of his hands grip the neckline of your tanktop and before you can utter a warning, the fabric shreds like paper in his hands. Your shorts and underwear are the next victims to be ripped from your body. 

Din wastes no time in shoving himself between your thighs, forcing them to spread wide. The sudden exposure forces a whine from your throat, all vulnerable and needy, but he doesn’t falter. His gaze darkens, a low sound rumbling in his chest at the sight of your cunt, already slick and flushed from his rough handling. 

“That’s all it takes, huh?” Din murmurs. The harsh smack of his palm against your ass catches you off guard and you moan a broken little sound that only encourages him. He grins wildly. “Get a little rough and this pretty pussy just begs for attention…” 

You arch your hips and grind your ass back against him, shivering at the press of his hard cock against your ass. He’s still completely clothed, dressed in his flight pants and soft undershirt. The stark difference of your completely bare body beneath his clothed one only pushes you deeper into that sweet, hazy headspace - and he knows it. He watches with rapt attention as the fabric of his flight pants darkens with your slick, the muscle in his jaw ticking with every clench of his teeth. 

The temptation is too much for him to resist. His fingertips glide along the seam of your sex to find your clit with practiced ease. There’s no hesitation, no slow progression of gentle pressure to ease you into his touch. Two thick fingers sink into you without warning, the sudden stretch forcing a choked sound from your chest. Your thighs jerk against his hold, trying - and failing - to close around his hand. Din just tuts and shakes his head, almost mocking as he chastises you.

“None of that. I know what this needy cunt wants.” Those talented fingers curl upward against that sweet spot over and over until you instinctively squirm away from his touch. He doesn’t let you get far. The grip on your thigh tightens just as his thumb presses firmly against your clit and the pulse of pleasure that rocks through your core is molten and piercing and devastating. 

A low groan rips through his chest at the sight you make and your skin flushes under his attention, his urgent touch. Every inch of your body has been committed to his memory, so thoroughly that he doesn’t even have to watch his movements to have you falling apart beneath him. But he watches anyway, too entranced to tear his eyes away. 

Din grinds his cock against your soft thigh, too taken with the sight of you falling apart to stop himself. Every little whimper he drags out of you only makes him rut into you harder. There’s an intensity that simmers in his eyes as he looks at you, as if he would burn the entire universe down just to keep you here with him. Possessive and dark and all-encompassing. 

“Come on, let go. Be loud for me, sweet girl.” Din murmurs, the low rumble of his voice alight with indulgence. That unshakable restraint of his is splintering right before your eyes. He wants more. His palm presses down on your lower belly just as he curls his fingers and you cry out, a sharp and indecent sound that sends a shudder through Din’s body. “That’s it, that’s my girl. Every little sound, every quiver, every fucking drop… it’s all mine. You are all mine.”

You reach out for him before you can think better of it, your fingers gripping his wrist tightly. His eyes flash up to yours, dark and dangerous, but it isn’t enough to deter you. Your tongue flicks out to wet your lips in a nervous impulse. 

“Prove it.” 

Din snaps. 

The world spins as he manhandles your body, pushing and pulling until he has you on your knees, facedown against the mattress. Adrenaline and desire flood your body with every beat of your heart. His hands settle on both globes of your ass and spreads you apart for his greedy eyes, his fingers giving your plump flesh an appreciative squeeze. You hear the sound of him spitting before you feel it, hot and slick splattering against your cunt. 

You can’t help but envision yourself through his gaze. Bent to his will, quivering and dripping with slick and spit. Fingers twisting the fine, expensive sheets so tightly they may tear. Whining and whimpering and desperate. It’s no wonder he’s so ravenous. 

Din rips the fly of his pants open so harshly that he damn near breaks the zipper in his haste. Anticipation tightens in your belly and you barely have a moment to steady yourself before he’s pushing into you with one devastating roll of his hips. The sound that rumbles through his chest is nothing less than pure animal, entirely feral and starved for you. His hips grind impossibly deeper, even with his pelvis pressed flush against your ass. 

The rest of the world - fuck, the rest of the universe - disintegrates into nothing. Beyond your lover, the heat of his body and the pleasure he draws through your strung-out body with every movement, nothing else exists. It hurts in the best of ways. You slump deeper into the sheets, struggling to keep yourself upright as the waves of pleasure threaten to drown you. Din doesn’t even falter - he just hitches you up higher by your hips and holds you in place, pins you there beneath him at the perfect angle. The way you melt for him is the only sign he needs. His pace grows harsher, fast and jarring until the headboard cracks into the wall with every sharp thrust he delivers into your body. 

“Who do you belong to, huh?” Din growls.

You choke out a weak, “You!” 

“Hm? I didn’t catch that.” His arm wraps around your neck and tugs you up onto your knees, his pace never faltering. Even like this, his head clouded with possessiveness and lust, he’s careful not to block your breathing. His bicep flexes against your neck and the pure strength he contains sends a rush through you. “Speak up. Who the fuck do you belong to?”

“You!” You cry out, your nails digging into his wrist as you cling to him. The sudden change in angle has every thrust pressing against that sweet spot that makes you tremble uncontrollably. “Fuck, I belong to you! I’m yours, I’m all yours. Please just… fuck, please!”

Your voice fizzles out into something soft and sweet, so breathy and fucked out that you can’t even finish your plea - but it’s okay. Din knows. He knows what you want, what you need. The desperate tone seems to break something in him. He presses his cheek to the side of your head, molding your bodies together seamlessly. The brush of his clothes against your flushed skin makes you shiver. 

“Good girl…” Din murmurs in that soft, lovestruck voice that makes you melt.  “Don’t worry, I’ve got my girl. My perfect, beautiful girl.” 

His hand abandons your hip to snake down your belly. The moment his fingertips glide over your clit, you jerk in his arms as if he’s shocked you. Din just holds you tighter, whispering praise and encouragement between his own broken moans. You swear you’ve never felt closer to him. The two of you fuse into one being, a mess of limbs and sweat and lust. You reach back and bury your hand in his hair, your fingers clutching those soft curls at the base of his skull for dear life. His sharp teeth nip at your earlobe playfully before soothing the mark with a flick of his tongue - and you can’t hold back. 

“Oh, fuck -” Your voice is choked away by the weight of your orgasm. The devastating burst of pleasure rips through you until you’re left trembling and breathless in your lover’s arms. A broken moan drips from Din’s lips, heated and wild in your ear as he buries himself as deep as your body will take him. It never fails - your end always brings about his. The quivering of your cunt, the pure ambrosia of your cries… as sure as the sun will rise, your orgasm sends Din crashing down into his own.

He barely manages to keep himself from crushing you as the two of you fall into the sheets. Every grind of his hips sends pulses of overstimulation through your overworked body. You can’t help but shiver with it as his full weight sinks into you, his cock slowly softening inside of you as the post-orgasmic haze settles over you both. 

Time slows, thick and sweet as molasses. The steady beat of his heart and his gentle exhales ghosting across the back of your neck ground you to him, to the unbearably divine reality that surrounds you. This man, the love of your life, so steadfast in his dedication to you. The pure fervor of it is enough to warm you for a thousand lifetimes. You reach back and tug at the shirt he still wears, a wordless plea that still tells him all he needs to know. 

Take it off. I want to feel you. 

Din makes quick work of his clothes. The need to feel his skin against yours is one he feels so keenly that he could never deny you. You stretch out in the silken sheets, lazy and lithe as a loth cat. You can feel his gaze on you as he strips himself bare. The fire in his eyes has eased to embers. Still scorching with heat but… sated. Content. In the low light of the room, his bare body slick with sweat and his expression so full of love, you can’t help but gravitate to him. His muscles twitch beneath your palm as your hand explores the body you know so well - over the soft hairs of his happy trail and the thick muscle of his chest, coming to rest at the junction where his neck meets his shoulder. He grasps your elbow and you meet his gaze, and the sight he makes steals the very breath from your lungs. 

Lips parted. Eyes wide. Hair mused and messy. He looks at you as if you placed the very stars in his sky. There is a devotion that hangs in the air, heavy and so sweet you nearly ache with it. Your hand slides up to the back of his neck, musing the mess of curls that lie there. He shivers at the touch and for a moment, it’s hard to believe that he is the man who just fucked you until you couldn’t think straight.

“I love you,” You whisper. 

His cheeks flush red. “I love you, too.” 

Din doesn’t resist as you pull him back into bed for a kiss. It’s simple, nearly chaste, but it still leaves him breathless and gazing at you with dazed eyes. His tongue flicks out to wet his lips before he tugs you into his lap for another and another until you’re both breathless. Warm hands explore the planes of your back, the curve of your waist, his touch as reverent as it was the very first time he felt you. Despite the exhaustion that curls through you both, he’s so hesitant to let this moment end. 

“We could always take a shower.” He suggests in a tone so conspicuously innocent that you can’t help but laugh. 

“We should rest.” You admit. The disappointment on his face is impossible to miss. He might as well pout. You brush his hair out of his face. “Don’t worry, pretty boy. I have a lot of plans for tomorrow and they all include us staying right here in this bed.” 

The promise is enough for Din to let you both settle in for some much-needed sleep. Even as you doze off, lulled to sleep by the steady beat of his heart beneath you, Din hesitates to follow. He’s exhausted too, but he can’t stop staring at you long enough to let sleep take him. No matter how many times he has seen you curled up against him, deep in sleep, the sight never fails to enrapture him. The reminder that you’re here with him - that you love and trust him so deeply - blows him away every single time. 

“I’m gonna marry you one day, pretty girl.” He whispers into the calm night. “Gonna be a good husband and give you the life you deserve. I promise.”

[alkali1]

Belly Attendant 2: Early Labour

When you arrive at the temple you help Naia stuff her boulder-sized bump into her levitation harness. The magical garment of cloth straps and buckles gives her just enough lift to be able to waddle short distances, albeit slowly and painfully. You hold her hand and guide her back to your shared room. The contractions are starting to pick up in strength, making her moan and screw her beautiful deep brown eyes shut.

She coos in relief as you arrive back at your plush bed. You help heave her into bed and settle into the mattress divot created by her turgid womb over years of being mostly bedridden. You can tell that she's very near the absolute limit of her capacity as a surrogate; even just waddling a few hundred yards has her gasping for breath, dripping with sweat, and doing her best to massage her sore hips with her comparatively tiny hands.

You grab the large bottle of magically infused lotion and apply it to your hands. The burgeoning elf needs her belly lotioned twice a day in order to help her body handle the massive stretching needed to gestate such a tremendous brood. You start at the top of her belly, underneath her wobbling breasts, and work your way down. As you go, you can't help but pepper her movement-filled womb with kisses. When she experiences an intense contraction, you can feel her uterus straining and deforming under your fingertips.

After covering her heavily swollen baby bump in lotion, you fetch dinner for her. Helping her sit up in bed, propped up by a nest of pillows to keep her from being smothered by the weight and volume of her womb and bosom, you hold the loaded tray for her as she stuffs herself to the brim. When she's finished, you lie her down, giving her belly a long, thorough massage. After whimpering through a particularly bad contraction she croaks out "Can you please check my cervix?"

"Only a couple centimeters." you say. While feeling her progress it was obvious that the head crammed tightly into her strained cervix was extremely large. Noting your concern she says "I think it's the damn centaur foal. Stubborn little brat just had to wait an extra six months." Despite her feigned anger you can tell that she's anxious, resigned to what will surely be a very long and painful birth.

You realize this could be one of the biggest children she'd ever had to deliver. She'd birthed children of very large races, including minotaurs, ogres, and loxodon, and she'd had surrogate babies stay in up to a year past their due date, but it was rare that both occurred at once. You squeeze her hand reassuringly, petting her belly with the other. "You can do this, honey." "I know, but I don't want to." That night she sleeps fitfully, periodically awoken by contractions that get closer and closer together. In the middle of the night she wakes up to a splitting pressure in her lower back and can't get back to sleep. Her pathetic struggle to turn herself over wakes you up, and you help heave her onto her other side. You climb back into bed, spooning her, and she immediately wiggles her hips back against you while grabbing your hand and placing it on her pillowy breast. "Please," she whispers, "Help me get back to sleep." You pull down your pajamas and slowly rub your dick between her wet, swollen pussy lips, while lightly biting her shoulder. She bucks against you more and more clumsily and desperately, trying to impale herself on your cock but far too unwieldy and immobile to succeed. You insert your diamond-hard cock into her dripping cunt, so wonderfully swollen and sensitive from being on the very precipice of giving birth.

You thrust into her for nearly a quarter of an hour, making her fat hips jiggle, clutching and squeezing at her wobbling udders which drip milk onto the silken bedsheets. All the pressure bearing down on her juicy cunt has her maddeningly horny, but her buildup to orgasm keeps getting interrupted by contractions. Feeling her body squeeze around your cock makes it so hard to hold back your orgasm, but you know that her pleasure is paramount right now. Eventually she's too frustrated and out of breath to continue. "huff... get my harness on. I need to ride you." You gleefully oblige, getting her into a kneeling posture and sliding yourself underneath the behemoth sphere of her pregnant stomach. The harness is enough for her not to literally crush you, but her bump, just inches above the bed, still envelops your head and torso entirely. After some careful maneuvering you get your cock inside her, and she eagerly tries her best to ride you, despite her sore hips and back barely being able to support her crushing bulk. Unable to really bounce up and down, she instead rocks back and forth on your cock, grinding her fat hips on you while smothering you with her immense belly. You take in a mouthful of the soft layer of fat covering her underbelly and bite, leaving teeth marks and large, deep purple hickeys.

Her pleasure in this position is intense from being completely filled by your cock, and she's able to fight through the contractions and cum hard. When you feel her orgasm shuddering through her, you let loose your cum, filling her with so much that it immediately drips back down onto your groin.

You extricate yourself from beneath her bite mark covered baby bump and heave her back over onto her side. You massage her back gently until you feel her drifting off to sleep, then spoon up beside her, comforting her through the contractions. Tomorrow she's going to have an agonizing ordeal ahead of her, and you'll be there for her every step of the way.

[jethrowest]

the taste is just a memory you hold…

Prompts for @cozycornerkinktober: overstimulation/double penetration. briefly mentioned since this is a drabble, but i wanted to contribute!

Warnings: incubus homelander- need i say more? fun, freaky tendril shit. slight dubcon. happy reading! 18+

—

The days blur together now.

He doesn’t limit his visits anymore. You used to only see him at night.

He’d start off slow, simply studying you while he sat in the chair in the corner of your room. Then he would move to the edge of your bed.

He had quickly grown tired of that, however, and after a few evenings of nothing beyond having his piercing gaze all over and through you, he would trace your skin. Your neck had been first, observing how you reacted to his touch. Once he seemed satisfied, he would slink across your body and envelop you.

Sometimes, if your focus isn’t immediately robbed, you catch sight of fingers bleeding into the darkness. He is mostly concealed, offering glimpses of handsome, ethereal features that glint beneath the moonlight. His eyes shimmer and glow a faint red. You can’t tell what clothes he wears, if any at all.

When he drapes himself over you, attaches himself to you, you feel the weight of a man, but don’t see it.

Inky tendrils disappear inside your stretched center; your open, silently screaming mouth. They make you quiver and shake. Make you clench and cry out.

Your orgasms overtake and consume you, leaving you sore and wrecked. Those very coils disperse and permeate within, leaking from you like your pooling arousal, sliding down your thighs and soaking your sheets.

It becomes so frequent, so haphazard, that you begin to wonder if you leave the house. If you wake up. If you’re currently in a dream.

Hours, minutes, seconds later, you stand in front of your full-length bathroom mirror, staring hard at your reflection. Hoping answers will seep past your pallid complexion.

Instead, something black starts to collect on the floor, spilling from between your legs.

Your knees buckle. You almost fall forward; nearly come from the way it eases inside out, thorough and swollen.

The sensation of something indistinguishable expanding within your most vulnerable, sacred areas and slipping through your cervix until it breaks free is indescribable. It’s unlike anything you’ve experienced, and it is equally petrifying as it is delicious.

It’s fucking biblical.

And it doesn’t stop until something you haven’t witnessed in its entirety takes shape.

He flows from you. Stands behind you. Grabs you and pulls you flush to him, pale hand unwavering at your throat.

When you regain balance, you notice that he is now whole to you. Blond hair adorns his crown, irises sparkle blue with a hint of crimson, and rows of teeth are a brilliant, perfect white. Sharp.

Beautiful, elegant robes cascade to the ground, fanning into a velvety scarlet. He smells sweet and warm, like fields of strawberries drenched in sunlight. He smells of the earth and what lies below it.

His slender nose drags along your pulse point. His tongue follows. He inhales greedily.

“How long have you been here?” you ask. Outside. In. It doesn’t matter what you’re referring to. You’re delirious when you question him, as if you’ve already been fucked an unfathomable amount of times, only being held upright by his presence. Your mind is coated with a thick fog.

You notice a small, strange grin lift the corners of your lips. The action feels foreign to you, almost like he’s controlling your mouth.

Your heart dilates, breaks apart and produces two separate beats, thudding in unison. Your cunt flutters, adding a third.

Will time come back to you? Greet you with welcoming arms that tell you it’s always been yours?

He laughs, a low, penetrating sound. “Oh my precious little lamb…” That voice lives in your bones, dense and deep.

“What gave you the silly idea I ever left?”

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

Soap x reader, No.20 ( scar) , Reboot Soap but I just love that eye scar on OG Soap.

I know you find it hard to write soap. Little challenge for ya little teddy bear :)

Thank you!! 😘😘😘

It’s the fact that I was going to do this in the Neighbor!soap story 🤭

Ask game prompts @sofasoap

You knocked softly on Soap’s door into his room on the base. You waited for a while, hoping that maybe you would be able to hear him from the other side of the door, but there was nothing.

Soap hasn’t been out of his room since he had gotten back from the mission two days ago. He had disappeared since he had to go to the infirmary for an injury, one that wasn’t life threatening according to Ghost.

You knew he was upset. Any time he would be upset, he usually hid it, but this time he had decided to hide all of himself.

“Soap.” You called out and rested your hand on the doorknob. “Can I come in?”

There was not a sound from the other side and you wondered if maybe he was asleep. You thought for a moment to just leave him be but you at least wanted to check on him.

You tried the door and was surprised when it was unlocked.

You step into his room, noticing that all of the lights were off except for one by his bed. You found him immediately, laying on his bed with his arm covering his face as if he were asleep. You were about to leave when he spoke.

“What do ya need, bon?” Soap spoke with a soft voice, a lot calmer than what he normally did.

“I wanted to check on you.” You shut the door and made your way over to him. “You haven’t been out of your room and I was worried you haven’t eaten.”

“I’ve eaten.”

You wanted to argue but you didn’t, especially when he sat up and you got a full look of his face which made your eyes soften.

Across his left eye was a faint scar that split his eyebrow down to the top of his cheek. His face was swollen red on that side and you know Soap was never one to really care about his appearance but this had to be different.

Soap averted his eyes from you as you sat down on the bed beside him. He rested his hands in his lap, rubbing them together and lacing his fingers around each other.

You didn’t know what to say, you weren’t sure if you could say anything that would help so instead you reached up and began to run your fingers through his Mohawk.

He sighed deeply and leaned against your touch, resting one of his hands on your thigh and kneading his fingertips into your skin. He didn’t say anything and instead let you turn his face so he was facing you.

Soap’s good eye was full of tears as he tried to look at you, unable to keep the shaky breath that escaped his mouth as you caressed his cheek.

You leaned close and very softly placed a kiss on his swollen scar, careful to not hurt him since you knew it was still sore.

He wrapped his strong arms around your waist, pulling you into his lap as a few tears fell from his eye as you continued to place more kisses against his scar.

“I think it’s pretty badass.” You whispered and he scoffed.

“Yeah, I think so too.” He rubbed his thumb into your lower back. “Made a mistake to get it though.”

“You’re alive, I think that’s all that matters.”

Soap hummed and tightened his hold around you. He rested his chin on your shoulder and rocked you back and forth. He pressed a kiss to your temple with a small smile, as a weight was lifted off his shoulders

[xe-n4]

sickly blues

feat. megumi & yuji note: i'm one of those weirdos who get sick in the summer, so i re-wrote this contains: physical illness total: 492

—MEGUMI

Megumi’s the type of person to deny he’s sick until he’s like on the verge of death. 

He’ll literally carry on with his day having coughing fits, a sore throat, severe dizziness, no appetite and act like it’s a normal Tuesday. 

If anyone tells him to take proper care of himself, he’ll retaliate, but he would be too weak to do anything. 

“Y/n, ‘m not sick,” Megumi protested, his voice hoarse like it physically hurt him to speak. 

“Sure,” you answered sarcastically as you opened the door to his room with your hip while dragging him along. You lightly pushed him to lie down and pulled the covers up to his chin. “I’ll go get you something to eat, okay?” 

As you were leaving, you turned around and warned. “Stay. In. Bed.” 

Megumi hummed in agreement and watched you shut the door, letting out the cough he’d been holding in, then winced at the pain. His throat was scratchy and swollen, but that was the least of his worries. He had a booming headache which caused a stinging sensation to the back of his eyes and a constantly rising temperature that made the idea of ripping his skin off seem oddly pleasant. 

When you re-entered the room with a bowl of chicken noodle soup, Megumi was asleep. His light snores carried as his chest rose and fell. You smiled at the peaceful look on his face and placed the bowl on the bedside table. 

You reached over the bed to place the back of your hand on his forehead. Still hot. As you were moving to get a wet towel, Megumi grabbed your wrist and pulled you down. 

“Not yet,” he murmured and settled back to sleep. 

—YUJI

Yuji loves being taken care of while he’s sick, but he prefers to deal with things on his on for the most part. 

At first, he won’t say anything because it’s just a minor cough, and it’s not affecting his day, but he seems a little out of it. 

Then it gets worse, with an increasing temperature, dizziness and nausea. This is probably when he asks for help. 

He’s also very clingy and won’t leave you alone, even if he’s probably contagious. 

“Yuji?” You squinted, suddenly feeling the weight of something climbing on you while you were asleep on his sofa. “Yuji, go back to bed.” 

He shook his head and snuggled further into you, resting his head in the crook of your neck and the heat from his forehead burned your skin. “Wanna cuddle.” 

“We can do that when you get better. 

He hummed ‘no’ and you soon gave up your futile attempt to reason with him. The only way he would be moving, is if you physically picked him up. Which was near impossible in this situation. Your hands went to scratch the back of his head to soothe him as you both drifted to sleep. 

Oh, and guess who also got sick? 

m.list | like & reblog

[boytumms]

Okay so, I’ve had this one fantasy for a long time (probably since my sexual awakening lol) and it’s a double whammy of stuffing and pregnancy. A very vain person is kidnapped and told that the only way to leave is to clear the massive dining table of all the food on it.

They protest at first, they have an intense and strict diet and exercise regime and the food on the table is all fatty meats and buttery sides and carbs and sugary desserts. But their captor persists, giving them water spiked with appetite stimulants, and eventually they relent and try a bite. They’re so hungry at this point that they start gorging themselves, and even when they start to be in pain and really want to stop eating, they can’t. It’s like their body has a mind of its own as they eventually make their way through all of the food.

By the end their stomach is red and sore, they’re rubbing it desperately to try and find some relief but it’s like every available inch of space is taken up. Eventually, their captor enters the room and taunts them with how much weight they’ll gain because of this binge and the vain person is absolutely horrified. Then, the captor gives them an alternate option. Instead of gaining that weight, they can become pregnant with a child that is the equivalent weight. Best of all, they’ll give birth within the week and then they can just lose the leftover baby weight.

The vain person agrees immediately. They know pregnancy won’t be great for their figure but it’s better than having to work off fat. And how much could one stuffing like this cause? Five, at worst ten pounds? Easier to birth than exercise away. What they don’t realize is that the amount of food they ate was the equivalent of 30 pounds of weight gain and they are going to give birth to a toddler sized child in a week.

I've said it before and I'll say it again, stuffing + pregnancy is so top tier and they need to be combined more often!!!

What if, to make it worse for the poor guy, he agrees to the pregnancy thinking that the baby will replace the food he just ate, but instead, he get's impregnated on top of his fully stuffed stomach. While he wont gain the weight from the food, it's still in his stomach and has to be digested while the baby grows in his belly at the same time. Since he was forced to eat so much, it takes ages for his gut to process the food, so while he's still so overly stuffed, his tummy continues to swell even bigger with the huge soon to be 30 pound baby.

In a matter of days his belly doubles in size, becoming so large and heavy that he can barely stand on his own two feet anymore. The baby's growth is only aided by the copious amounts of nutrients from the food, so it grows big and strong extremely fast. It kicks and punches, twisting and turning in the poor boy's tummy, making him feel sick as his stomach cramps from the food it's still trying to work through. He spends his time trying to rub and sooth his restless belly, whimpering and trying to keep the baby calm to stop it from beating his tender tummy.

By the end of the week he's absolutely exhausted. His mountain of a tummy is so big it pins him to the ground, skin red and tight, so full now he can't even rub the painfully taut surface anymore. His massive toddler sized baby rolls and kicks within him, tenting the too tight skin and making him cry out in pain. Each movement threatens to rip through the paper thin skin of his swollen mound, and all he can do is clutch his bloated sides and pray his belly holds together.

The week is finally up and his captor excitedly waits for his labor to begin. After 7 days of torturous agony, the boy will finally be free, that is if he can survive giving birth to a gigantic 30 pound baby. His contractions start and his baby squirms inside him, eager to be born, but it still takes hours for his waters to finally break. By the time they do, he's already moaning and screaming in pain. He throws his head back in agony as the pressure heightens to the point he thinks he's really going to pop, when instead he feels something burst inside and a rush of hot fluid soaking his trembling thighs.

His captor laughs at him as he shakes and thrashes, arching his back and throwing his contracting belly into the air. He feels his captor place his rough hands on his squirming tummy, rubbing and squeezing his sides and making him choke out a garbled scream. Despite his weak pushes, the baby inches down towards his ass like it's trying to crawl out on its own. His canal stretches around the massive head, it's so big it feels like it's the size of a small melon.

Hours of pushing later it reaches his hole and begins to ram against the tight ring of muscle. The boy's voice is ragged from screaming, but he can't help by let out a torn cry as the baby spreads him wide. Slowly the head begins to emerge, stretching him further and further until he feels the skin begin to tear. He kicks and thrashes in pain, begging his captor to help him, but they laugh and tell him there's nothing they can do even if they wanted to help, which they don't.

The baby's head comes to a crown, and to the exhausted boy's horror and dismay, comes to a complete halt. He pushes and strains as hard as he can against the pain, but it's useless. His baby is stuck stretching him at it's widest point and he simply doesn't have the strength to force it to move. wailing in despair, he thrashes back and forth, trying to spread his trembling legs wider, clutching at his sweaty deformed belly, anything to get the head unstuck. Nothing works, and he falls back panting and moaning.

His eyes flutter as his vision blurs. He's too tired to push anymore and his head rolls back on the floor, letting the contractions rip through his body with his mouth hanging open in a silent scream of pain. Suddenly, his body jerks and his belly jumps. His eyes widen and his hands fly to his tummy, crying out as it jerks again. He looks down at his quivering belly in fear, watching in horror as it jerks over and over, pulling his body with it with each lurch. A sudden crack and he weakly cries out, feeling a rib break.

He realizes what's happening, his baby is trying to kick its way out of his belly. It's strong arms and legs push and kick at his insides, and cracking his ribs in the process. Each kick sends his mind spiraling with pain, arms wrapped around his tummy as far as he can reach in a desperate attempt to stop it's movements. He sobs and babbles incoherently as his baby forces its way out of his body, beating his insides to a pulp and tearing its way through his entrance.

With one last kick, the head bursts through his hole along side a gush of blood and fluid. His body convulses as the baby wriggles and writhes the rest of it's body out, leaving him gasping and wheezing, no longer able to scream anymore. The baby slides out between his legs and he hears it take its first breath and begin to cry. It's a miracle he's somehow survived giving birth to a baby the size of a two year old.

Standing over the boy, his captor picks up the crying baby. They look down at him and smirk, lifting their boot over his still swollen tummy and placing it right over his stretched out belly button. The boy seems unresponsive at first touch, but his captor drives their heel deep into the bloated, puffy flesh of his tender belly, immediately eliciting one last gargled shriek from the boy. Fluid spurts from his torn hole as the heel twists and digs into the poor boy's tummy, forcing the placenta out with a sick splatter onto the messy floor. His eyes roll back in his head and his tongue lolls out the side of his mouth, vision finally fading to black as his mind finally blacks out.

He should have just gained the 30 pounds

[rhaegang]

So, this is going anonymous because I'm a pussy. But I have a very huge size difference kink, I don't know, I love it, and Cattonquick makes it even worse, but something I haven't seen much in fics is exploring Oliver with a size kink. AUHGGG IT'S JUST, Félix is a giant, Oliver looks so tiny next to him, just his hands are huge, now imagine the size of his cock. Idk, it bothers me to think about that and not see people doing something with it

Sorry, I'm cringe

I do think this features in most cattonquick stories. Their size difference is such a main aspect of the pairing!

But as far as it being like, THE central focus of a fic or a scene in one, I don’t know of many. So…

It’s fun to imagine what Oliver is daydreaming about all those times he’s staring at Felix. Longing for Felix. Thinking of Felix (forever thinking of Felix).

So let’s imagine, Oliver is staring at Felix. He’s inching up every last inch of Felix with his eyes. And there are so many. His arms and legs go for miles. His chest and back are broad, even if he’s a bit bony and slim. His neck is long. His fingers are too. His hands — on the fretboard of the guitar, or holding a plastic cup and a beer bottle together in just one hand, or resting on Oliver’s knee and completely covering it — damn. Felix has such big hands.

Oliver absolutely would think about Felix’s hands and consider, okay. Proportionately, that means his cock has to be…

He takes the bus to Reading, which has the closest adult shop outside of Oxford. He has, folded in his pocket, an outline he made of Felix’s hand on a piece of notebook paper by tracing it while Felix slept.

He becomes someone new when he goes into the shop, someone who has no shame, someone who does shit like this all the time. Oliver becomes this someone because that’s the only way he’s going to get what he wants.

He asks one of the shop clerks, “what have you got that’s big enough this hand would barely fit around it?”

The clerk doesn’t give a fuck that it’s a strange question. She’s heard far stranger. And since this guy looks harmless (he’s barely bigger than herself, which, aw) she plays along.

“Did you want something that takes batteries, darling?”

She opens boxes for Oliver so he can feel each one. The weight, the length, the almost anxiety-inducing girth of some of them. The one he chooses is as realistic looking as the come. In fact, it’s apparently molded from a real man’s cock; the little racy blurb on the back of the box has a few sentences about him, including his height and how much he bench presses.

The front of the box doesn’t have sentences. It’s just one word: goliath.

It costs a fortune, wiping out Oliver’s pocket money so he’s actually as broke as he’s been pretending to be, at least for the next two weeks.

Oliver is half hard in his trousers the entire bus ride back to Oxford, clutching his backpack with its passenger on his lap to hide it.

The curtains get closed, the door locked; and fuck it, Oliver sticks his chair under the doorknob for good measure, too. He can’t take any chances. He needs to focus.

There’s a few less than sexy steps between barricading the door and when Oliver finally hovers over the massive silicone cock he’s got stuck to the centuries-old hardwood floor, but they’re done and now he’s here.

He’s here, and he’s going to fit this massive thing inside him (and imagine that it’s bloodwarm, imagine that it’s pulsing, imagine that it’s Felix that he’s straddling because if they did missionary, Felix might crush him—) even if it fucking kills him.

It winds up taking Oliver a lot more work to take the whole thing than he expected. It’s hours later, and he’s sore and swollen and overstimulated, but he gets there in the end. His thighs burn from all the careful squatting and shifting, and when he finally can get down near the base of it, his legs give. It drops him a bit harder down onto Felix, rams Felix’s dick up into his guts in a way that makes him hiccup.

“So big.” It’s a whimper. “God, Felix.”

His hole feels so stretched he worries it’ll never go back to normal. But then, for Felix, Oliver doesn’t care if he has to be broken. He doesn’t care if he’ll feel loose to anyone else, anyone smaller. Oliver knows anyone less than Felix would never satisfy him in any way, so, no. He doesn’t care if he becomes a sloppy, fucked out, loose-holed little slut from how much Felix uses him.

Curious, Oliver presses his fingers against his belly until he thinks he can feel the head. There. He looks down. He flails an arm for his backpack, drags it closer with desperate fingers because he can’t shuffle closer to it to grab the strap properly. He’s fucking impaled where he sits, Felix filling him up and nailing him down.

He uncaps a permanent marker and draws a line on his stomach where the head must be. Permanent marker isn’t permanent enough though. It’ll wash eventually. Maybe he’ll have it tattooed, he thinks.

Yeah. He’ll get a line branded in ink on his skin, a straight line with a few hashmarks, sort of like on a ruler. But more like an F.

He wants to see it every time he looks down at himself. He wants to look at it and think, look how far inside me Felix goes. Look how much of me he fills up.

Felix fills all of Oliver, really. All of his thoughts. All of his dreams. All of his heart. It’s only fitting that he’d be big enough to fill Oliver’s body beyond reason, beyond comfort, the same way he fills up the rest of him.

And when the day comes that Oliver can do this for real, can get Felix’s fucking massive hands holding him down while he fills him up, Oliver will be ready. He won’t have to pant and struggle and bleed and curse, because his body will have already made room for every fucking inch of the man, will have reformed to hold him perfectly, cling to him like a fitted glove.

For now, Oliver can barely rock himself on Felix, just a little careful rolling of his hips, but even that pulverizes his prostate and leaves his cock dribbling precum in semi-clear, stretchy drips. He folds over, bracing himself on his elbows, and works his hips until he’s close to bouncing, until he punches his own orgasm out of himself with Felix buried as far as he can go.

Oliver passes out like that, his puffy hole twitching around Felix like it would pull him in deeper, were there more of him to take.

Which — Oliver hasn’t actually seen Felix’s dick while it’s hard.

What if this goliath isn’t big enough, after all?

[sedateandslice]

I want to wake up nauseated, confused, and in a lot of pain in a post anesthesia care unit.

For a long time I drift in and out of consciousness, moaning groggily about the dawning pain in my swollen abdomen. My incoherent cries join those of ten or so other women who are waking up to the unpleasant post surgical realities of sore throats from being intubated, sharp plastic tubes up pee holes, and the start of wicked gas pains against hysterectomy incisions. I notice sort of distantly that the woman behind the curtain next to me is sobbing and begging for pain meds and hope that my own pain levels don't get that bad.

I don't take anesthesia well so I'm down for the count in recovery for a while. Every once in a while I come back to consciousness just enough to remember the hysterectomy I've been planning for months is over and that's why I'm lying here in a hospital bed, moaning about the pain in my belly and the rough feeling in my vagina. I cry when I'm jostled as they remove the catheter.

My wife later tells me that I moan and cry the entire time the medical team helps me into my mesh underwear and my street clothes to go home. It's still shocking to me that 5 hours after my gynecological organs were sliced out of my vagina guided by a camera through my belly button that my bloated and barely coherent body is being loaded into a cab to recover from major abdominal surgery from home.

I lay in my wife's arms and cry the whole excruciating way downtown. The four incisions in my abdomen have become very apparent and the ominous pain deep inside my belly is getting worse by the minute. The gas pains come so sharp I can't help but cry out "it hurts!" every couple of blocks. I'm painfully aware of every bump and when the cabbie hits a particularly bad pothole, I suddenly feel my poor, eviscerated insides slam against my belly and, inexplicably, my entire vagina alights in agony.

"BE CAREFUL, I JUST HAD A HYSTERECTOMY!"

I cry incoherently, holding my puffy, aching belly, until we get home. I feel like my insides are going to fall out of my vagina as I walk into the house.

My wife is finally able to settle me in a comfortable position and put ice packs on my swollen belly and vagina. I'm so dizzy, barely clinging to consciousness, as she tries to get me my meds and some food. I can sense she's desperate to bring me around a little bit more.

But the gas pains are SO BAD. I can feel every internal stitch on my vaginal cuff incision because of the air bloating my belly. The best solution, walking, makes me want to cry. I'm in so much pain I can't imagine moving.

When I finally do make it to the toilet to take my first of many post surgery pees, I cry out when I sit and my vagina is hanging down over the toilet. It burns inside and, frankly, feels like I just got roughly fucked. Which I did, albeit with two weighted speculums.

I'm bleeding pretty badly into the mesh panties the hospital provided but I just let my wife change the pad because I'm so groggy and in so much pain she practically has to carry me to bed. I moan in gratitude as she places a heating pad on my aching belly and an ice pack in between my legs.

My pain remains uncontrolled all night -- I'm sure the neighbors loved me screaming "oh God, the gas hurts so bad" at the top of my lungs at 2am -- and I wake in the morning bleeding heavily and so sore I'm unable to get myself out of bed. My vagina is on fire and I still feel like my organs are going to fall into my underwear. When the gas pain comes it grips me to point where all I can do is fold myself over my screaming belly and pray it passes before I pass out from the pain.

Turns out having your gynecological organs sliced out hurts, no matter which way you do it.