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yameoto · 4 months

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COACH KNOWS BEST. ART, TASHI, PATRICK.

synopsis; you fucked up an important match. your punishment? a one-on-one match against patrick zweig. in your tiny tennis skirt. without your underwear. don't worry, baby. it's a private court.

✗ warnings ; coach!artashi, protégé!reader, dom!art/tashi/patrick, dubcon, foursome, double penetration, unhealthy power dynamics, large age-gap, slutshaming, exhibition, humiliation, sex on tennis courts, anal (you only have so many holes). this is NOT a classy party.

"DO i really have to wear this?" you hiss, indignant. fruitlessly attempting to tug your skirt down—if you could even call it that. a flimsy scrap of fabric, more like. (god, you think maybe it was tashi's when she was what—eleven?).

the hem just barely skims over your upper thighs. you can feel a goddamn breeze between your legs. you're eternally grateful for art and tashi, really, but this is fucking insane—

no— it's fine. it's fine. they’re your coaches, they know best.

"maybe if you hadn't fucked up that last volley." tashi scolds, harsh — her tough love familiar. though, there's a delighted glint to her eyes as you subconsciously squeeze your thighs together, trying your best to ignore the fact your ass is peeking out from under the bottom. your cheeks flare red.

“it’s a private tennis court.” art reassures, the warmth of his palm on your shoulder being far less comforting than normal. you scowl at the ground, knuckles clenching tight around your racket.

"oh, don't be so skittish. he's not that good." tashi coos, as if facing patrick zweig is the reason you're shifting your weight from foot to foot, hand squeezed determinedly at your crotch. tashi smiles. cradles your jaw, fingers swiping along your bottom lip—bitten raw and glossy. "just play your best." an hour later, and you’re not playing your best. you can’t play your fucking best—because with every movement, every hop, skip, and fucking jump; your skirt is fluttering upward and flashing your bare cunt to patrick motherfucking zweig.

this is hell. hell.

you're stiff as you move about the court, hyper-aware of the feeling of wind rushing between your legs. you’re sluggish in your pace—far too pre-occupied with yanking your skirt down every few seconds rather than actually focusing on the match.

how can you? especially when patrick's staring at you like he's trying to rip your thighs apart with his eyes. art and tashi are no better. you jump to return a ball, and your skirt flies up; displaying your ass spectacularly. you almost get whiplash with how fast you go rigid. “open up your form.” tashi chimes in. you shoot her a desperate, pleading look. she just arches a brow, expression impassive—though you don't miss the subtle quirk to her lips. she’s enjoying this. suppressing a whine, you broaden your stance obediently—legs sliding apart on the court. patrick's pupils dilate, and he not-so-subtly presses the hilt of his racket into his groin.

you swallow, hard. his eyes seem to follow that, too.

you're about to serve, before art’s voice cuts in from the sidelines—soft, low and yet—effortlessly authoritative.

"lower."

heat floods up to your ears. you bend down, feeling the fabric of your skirt hike even higher up your exposed asscheeks. you direct him a desperate glance, eyes wide—a bid for approval.

art smiles. "lower." a low whimper slips from your lips, but you obey because they're your coaches, of course you'll do what they say. patrick grunts in barely concealed disappointment as the front of your skirt drapes further over your cunt. your blush is violent. fuck, you look like the intro to a porno; back arched, ass perked so high the goddamn sun is warming your cheeks. you want to crawl into a hole and die.

though, when you finally risk a glance back; the feeling turns into a strangely pleasant heat, unfurling in your gut. tashi's eyes are lidded, sunglasses slid halfway down her nose. art's pupils are so dark his eyes have lost their blue. his thighs are quivering.

"good girl." tashi purrs. you shiver, and you almost drop your racket. "

"oh, fuck this." patrick growls, and then all of a sudden his racket has clattered to the ground and he's lunging for you—two hands clumsily seizing your hips and shoving you to the ground. he doesn't even have to hike up your skirt. his knee is shoved up between your legs, meaning he has full access to everything. he stares, greedy—and you stare back; specifically at the way the swollen tip of his cock hangs out from the side of his shorts. his slit drools, and a fat glob of pre-cum splats on your thigh.

he shrugs at the way your jaw drops—wry grin splitting his lips. "what? didn't want you to feel left out."

"patrick." art stands, voice low with rare warning. possessiveness. patrick only shoots back a broad smirk—lifting his hand up to give him the finger—before sticking up his index and wagging it in a stupidly lewd motion. if possible, it makes your cheeks glow even hotter than they already are—it's type of thing boys your age would do, not a grown-ass man.

"what, man? you can't tell me this isn't exactly what you wanted."

art scowls, though he doesn't say anything—the massive hard-on he's sporting speaks for itself. tashi's expression is unreadable from behind her shades; but nothing ever happens without tashi's say so.

"dude, she's so wet." patrick grins, and to your rising horror—you are. he spits on his palm before roughly thumbing the slick down your thighs, smearing, before popping it in his mouth. he swirls his tongue over the nub of his thumb, waggling his brows.

"of course she is." tashi hums, and a whine tears from your throat. shaking your head adamantly because for some reason tashi’s instantaneous, patronising nod of assent makes you feel more like a whore than patrick’s fingers sliding up your skirt. no, no. i don't. it's sweat. i swear, swear to god—

before the slew of protests can find its way out of your throat; three fingers are shoving themselves up your cunt and you gasp—back thrashing against hot concrete.

“oh, you didn't want this?” tashi’s voice drawls, low and slow and deliberate in your ear, hips rolling into yours. you whine, drawing a white-hot blank as her fingers slide deeper into your cunt, “because i don't see any tennis players on the court. just a couple of sluts.”

you barely even register patrick's aggrieved "hey!" from offside, the unfairness of it all bubbling up in your stomach and dizzying your head because what the fuck— that's not— you made me— but you can't force the words out; not when you can feel two hands wrest behind you by the shoulders. the feeling of callouses against your skin familiar—disarming. you whimper, a plea for salvation. "art—"

''shush." art hisses, roughly seizing the band of your tennis skirt and jerking it entirely up your mid-riff, so you're completely exposed waist-down. your eyes blow wide at the humid air that rushes against your crotch—back arching when his hand snakes under your top and pinches at your nipples.

"i'm surprised you even bothered with these." he remarks as he shoves your bra aside, not unkindly—but hardly considerate either, with the way his fingers squeeze and pinch and twist meanly. your knees almost buckle from under you.

not that they can, not with patrick holding you up by the backs of your thighs, shorts slid midway down his thighs. his cock throbs, swollen and needy as he pushes his groin up against yours. "m'shocked you even let me through the gates," patrick hums, and you don't have to look to know he's breathing down art's neck. "to break your little rookie in, no less." he's so cocky, spit flecking your pussy—talking like you aren't even there.

you squirm, but art is groping your tits and patrick is wrenching your legs apart and tashi has thrust a fourth finger up your pussy and fuuuuck—your limbs are reduced to jelly. thrust and tied up on a ridiculously hot torture wrack; tugged and pulled and twisted in three directions at once.

"not so fucking fast—the deal was if you won. you didn't fucking win." that's tashi. her fingers curl harshly, knuckles pressing against your walls. you take in a shuddering breath, eyes rolling back into your head.

"what the fuck? that's so unfair." patrick's voice is an indignant whine as tashi yanks him back by the hair. "i was winning! how the hell was i supposed to control myself—" you can feel his hands clamping over your ass, rough and domineering. his dick insistently wedges into the corner between your thigh and folds, as if trying to force entry.

"maybe if you had a little self-discipline, for once—"

"oh, that's fuckin' rich of you to say, making her come out here and—"

"shut up." art pants, low and hot in your ear, and you almost forgot he was there. you don't know how, with the way he's grinding his length furiously against your bare ass—damp in the way you know he's already creamed his pants already. his fingers wrest the nub of your nipple at the same time that patrick brute-forces his way inside your cunt. your body contorts between the three of them—a choked, rattled cry ripping from your throat and sending your vision dancing into spots. for a terrifying, blissful moment, your brain empties completely.

"god—" patrick grunts, shoving himself deeper, nails digging into the flesh of your ass as he pounds, with great effort. tashi's eyes flash with annoyance, though she doesn't physically wrench him off. not one to be one-upped; the next time art bucks his hips, you realise he's ditched the pants entirely—head of his cock dragging against the crease of your ass. it's a slick, slow friction—tender—dripping a glistening trail down your crack. and then, his hips snap back, and then he's plunging into your hole—the wet, slapping sound of his balls against your ass almost as loud as patrick's moans as he stuffs your pussy full. the two ram into you with vicious ferocity—like they're seeing who can come inside you first.

it hurts it hurts it hurts. as if the insides of your body have been set alight, limbs writhing uselessly—a bubbling, curdling heat deep in your belly. but it also feels good, somehow. when your head lolls forward, boneless and fuzzy; you can see the way your stomach distends with each of patrick and art’s brutal thrusts. the outlines of their cocks, cramming into you—fierce, desperate. tashi can see too, clearly. her free hand delicately runs over your abdomen—nails scraping. you can’t even gasp at the cool sensation. not when you’ve felt fuller than you ever have in your life.

it’s just like tennis. just like tennis. no pain, no gain—right?

art comes first, because of course he does. letting out a soft, keening hiss of his own as he slams his hips into you, palm squeezing your tits so hard you think you're about to burst. he shoots his load into you with a choked whine. he doesn't pull out—doesn't want to abandon the tight warmth of your hole, hugging his cock like the world’s prettiest little fleshlight. he simply fucks back into you with a blissful groan. slowly, painfully, knees quivering as his seed squirts out with every thrust.

patrick is louder when he does it; grunting with a guttural "mmf— fuck!" hips stuttering jerkily as a torrent of sticky warmth floods into you, oozing out from between his cock and tashi's fingers. it dribbles down your legs and spatters wet splotches against the tennis court. you can't even speak anymore, lips parting in wordless gulps of air.

that's when tashi yanks her fingers out from you—strings of cum trawling, stretching out of your pussy as she does so. you don't even have time to mourn the loss before art's stuffing you full of his dick again and tashi is cramming her warm, wet fingers in your mouth.

art is simply jerking in slow, torturous movements, and tashi is sliding her hand so far down your throat you almost choke. she smiles. "suck." it’s an order—not that she has to. you're already wrapping your tongue around her digits, mindless and drooling. patrick slumps between your knees, tongue greedily lapping at the spurts of his cum lazily dribbling from your pussy, in time with art's thrusts.

the concrete sizzles against your back, sun warming your limbs—dried cum smeared on your cheek. you feel dizzy, you feel good. warm. this is everything you've ever wanted—everything you‘ve ever needed.

(your coaches really do know best.)

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moondirti · 3 months

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I have to ask about the sheep reader bc my god your brain is so wrinkly and now the images won't leave my head ahhhh love your writing so so much

hybrids. manipulation. brief smut. referenced neglect

it was that or cult leader price which i feel like has been done before so,,, idk man. something about sheep girl! reader being gifted to him by a hybrid averse neighbour, trussed up in the back of their pickup, soft belly up, eyes quivery and wet with tears. though he does not need an addition to his flock — certainly not one that would require extra care — he notices the abrasions sectioning your bare patches of skin (consequence of crowding in with the more animal individuals of your kind), and chubs up upon realising how easy it would be to soft-soap you into submission.

all it takes is a bit of kindness. he herds you into his home, bathing you in a galvanised steel tub with shampoo made for human women. his hands are large and rough, work-worn, but they weave into your wool gently as to not tug on the knots that have accumulated with neglect. you bleat in the novel attention, peering up at him shyly when he works the soap down your back, cupping between your legs to make sure he gets the dirt spoiling your privates.

freshly clean, you’re a pretty thing. round in the most mouth-watering places, teeth healthy upon inspection, plump lips perpetually cast in a pout. price goes so far as to tell you while he detangles your hair with an animal comb, petting your bare cheeks to feel the way they warm. loveliest lamb i’ve ever had the pleasure of caring for. set to be my favourite, at this rate. the most special.

that’s what the collar he buckles ‘round your neck seems to argue, too. fashioned himself out of full grain leather, dyed pink, antique buckle making a sturdy hook for the bell he will eventually procure.

you give in like he’d brought a meat tenderiser down on your flesh. pull apart like a well-cooked feast, unspooling all your ripe sentiments on his lap. as he sups on lamb chops — seated on his arm chair with you by his feet, making you suck his fingers clean — he tells you what to expect in your new home. the schedule, the other animals, your place within it all. you will not be given this treatment daily, yet it does not mean he loves you any less. most winter days, he’ll lay a bed of straw in the barn, assuring you that it’ll be away from the rams and their meddling horns, and come to check in on you when you can. that way, you’ll make friends who can keep you company while he’s busy.

and the way you nod, nose twitching under his heavy palm, hesitant but so trusting of the only kindness you’ve ever known — he can’t help but skip a few steps. promises you that if you get along with everyone well enough, if you’re good, he’ll reward you with a nice bath, trim, and private meal weekly. it’s the right thing to say, too, because your hips jut excitedly at the suggested luxury. just one taste of it and you’re so easily conditioned.

he can’t imagine how eager you’d be if he were to give you more. more; like fondling your doughy pussy as he is so tempted to do, kneading until you’re sloppy and soaked through your wool. like giving you a taste of climax, fingers foraging expertly within your walls, stretching your hole out to eventually supplant them with his cock. you’d move so well underneath him, fluffy and malleable, legs moved up and out of the way to press against your teats. if he knows anything, he knows sheep acquiesce to handling like butter to the knife. he could bend you, tie you, pick you up in whatever way he sees fit, and you’d take it. all he has to do in return is make you squirt messily onto the soft grass, and pump you full of his seed until you cannot clean yourself out without the help of his hand and a hose.

all in due time.

#༄dee answers #there’s a place for shepherd dog gaz here somewhere #farmer price is just so special to me okay :’)#he deserves a pretty thing that blindly trusts whatever he says #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #hybrid!reader #john price #sheepgirl!au

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moechies · 5 months

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tw dark content dubcon, inst

thinking about fuckin’ on big bro nagi :< while he’s playin games on his phone or console, and he’s vv lost and confused as to why his imouto is mounting him so suddenly.

he’s all pouty, attempting to push you off by pressing at your hips but you’re insistent, and you waste no time listening to his little rambles before you situate your drooly cunt onto his pudgy tip.

his pants are heavy and breathless, leaning into the safe confinements of his back pillow for a sense of comfort. oh no, is it bad that he likes this ? oh, he’s so worried. but you let him know it’s okay, it’s okay to feel good, and press a soft reassuring kiss against his cheek.

his bottom lip is all quivery, controller thrown to the side as he mumbles ‘no, imouto,’ and ‘don’t do this, imouto.’ hes all squirmy so you take account to press down on his thighs so you’re able to do your job properly :(

and when those 3 sweet words fall from your lips, ‘i love you, nii-nii,’ he sighs in defeat, planting his face in the crook of your neck while holding you close, murmuring into your chest, ‘i love you, too.’

#tw.incest #tw.dubcon #tw.noncon #nagi seishiro #nagi smut #nagi seishiro smut #bllk nagi #bllk smut #blue lock smut #bluelock smut #dead dove do not eat #shorts ᡣ𐭩 #drabbles ⋆⑅˚₊

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soobinskii · 4 months

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jiwoong big dick drabble

warnings : porn link, squirting, spanking, (bd = big dick).

bigdick!jiwoong, who overwhelms you with his long, thick cock. he barely fits in your pussy, and makes you squirt all over him every time the two of you fuck. the tip just hits every spot you need it to, making you whimper and arch your back.

bd!jiwoong, who has to make you cum twice- on his fingers, his tongue or even a toy- before he can stuff himself inside of you. he needs to stretch you out really well with two or three fingers before he can even THINK about fucking you.

bd!jiwoong, who lets out the sluttiest moans as soon as he can get inside of you. his deep groans, gravelly moans and raspy voice in your ear as he tells you, "you're so good for me.. takin' me in so well.." he just loves the feeling of your tight walls wrapping around him, who can blame him?

bd!jiwoong, who always leaves you shaking and unable to walk. after the two of you are done having sex, he has to massage your quivery legs (according to him, it's a MUST!) he adores just watching how much you shake after he comes down from his peak. he holds your body, feeling you trembling in his arms due to the sheer ecstasy his big cock brings you.

bd!jiwoong, who is always amazed when he sees his tip creating a bulge under your belly. sometimes he purposefully tries to create that bulge, putting his hand over it and nearly whimpering when he can feel & see himself slowly thrusting into you.

bd!jiwoong, who likes fucking your throat, making you gag and choke on his length. he adores seeing the little bubbles and dribbles of spit down your chin as you attempt to take him all in your mouth. he even likes cumming down your throat and seeing tears run down your cheeks as you try to swallow it all. as you do this, he tells you "you did so good.. holy shit, you're so pretty.."

bd!jiwoong, who gets sooo drunk on the feeling of you on his cock in any capacity. if you're sucking, riding, kissing, fucking (etc) him; he's happy. he gets lost in the feeling, his head in the clouds as his lips part and his eyes roll back. he softly grabs your hair, ass, hips, whatever's accessible and softly begs you to kiss him. "baby, fuck- please kiss me.. pleaseplease." your lips on his keep him from completely blanking out and not thinking anymore..

a/n : this was just something i wanted to write quickly, i've been obsessed with jiwoong lately. i hope you enjoyed, please consider reblogging !! <3

#zerobaseone #zerobaseone smut #zb1 #zb1 smut #zb1 jiwoong #zerobaseone jiwoong #kim jiwoong #jiwoong smut #jiwoong x reader #kpop smut

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hermaphroditus1124 · 2 months

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Ok but force masc is so much fun too,

Befriending a cute trans boy who’s too scared of needles and the “permanent effects of T” to start anything, hasn’t even started his social transition yet because he “doesnt look like a boy and no one would use his pronouns anyways”

Convincing him to watch me do my shot so I can show him there’s nothing to be afraid of and how easy it is if he ever decides that it’s the route he wants to go,

Dragging him into the bathroom and shutting the door, sitting him down on the edge of the tub while he nervously looks around the room, waiting for the needles to jump out at him, giggling and trying to make him feel at ease while I gather my supplies,

Syringe, draw needle, injection needle, alcohol wipes a little bottle of hormones that I make sure he can’t read the label of and a blue bandaid, showing them to him and explaining the process,

Snapping the lid of the brand new bottle of “E” and wiping the top with an alcohol prep pad, letting it dry while I open the bandaid and stick one half to my hand, then screwing the draw needle into the syringe and pulling back once or twice to the dose I think will be best to start,

His eyes nervously fixated on the still capped draw needle, smiling at him and assuring him this isn’t the one that goes in you, the other one that does is much smaller,

Finally grabbing the bottle and piercing the little rubber cap, filling the syringe to what I think is the best dose, making sure to get all the air bubbles out while he shifts and bites his lip,

Retracting the needle and quickly capping it, making sure to draw the rest of the “E” out of the base of the needle and into the syringe, placing the bottle down in his eye line as I quickly change needles,

He looks down at the little bottle studying it and to his horror sees the words “testosterone cypionate”,

He stands and tries to rush the door but I’m on him in an instant, arm wrapped around his throat, head stuck between my forearm and bicep, he kicks and screams and pleads so I squeeze nice and tight until he “calms down” telling him that it’ll be much easier if he doesn’t struggle and that if he does this that eventually he’d be able to fight me off,

He coos and cries softly into my arm as I tell him to stay still, that it’ll all be over soon but that he needs to stay perfectly still for me or I’ll have to knock him out,

Placing the still capped syringe between my teeth and grabbing another alcohol prep pad with my free hand, wiping a little circle on his soon to be hair covered stomach,

And finally retrieving the syringe, telling him to be still and close his eyes, that when he opens them he’ll be a whole new man, uncapping the needle and placing it on his skin,

Hearing the coos and cries get louder, squeezing him harder and reminding him to stay still, his arms go limp by his sides as I slide the needle into his soft stomach, not too deep but not too shallow either, and quickly depressing the plunger sending the thick liquid into his abdomen,

Removing the needle and recapping it against the sink before grabbing the bandaid off the arm still holding him in place and slapping it onto his little needle mark,

Telling him what a good job he did and what a good boy his is and leaving a little kiss on his forehead before releasing him from my grasp, catching him as his legs are still shaky,

Hearing a quivery “thank you mommy” as he stands up, a new man, and one of my own creation.

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wynnyfryd · 8 months

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Trailer park Steve AU pt 44

part 1 | part 43 | ao3

cw: recreational drinking

“You’re just…” Robin looks at him sideways, her face doing something quivery and weird that he’s pretty sure is supposed to be sympathetic concern but mostly looks like she stubbed her toe right after smelling microwaved fish. “You’re sure it’s not too soon?”

It is.

It definitely is too soon.

Steve’s pleasantly buzzed at a New Year’s Eve party — some random rich kid’s house, loitering in the space between the living room and kitchen so he and Robin can properly people watch (see also: be hugely judgmental bitches about the fashion sense of the girls on the dance floor and the sloppy form of the guys doing keg stands on the back deck) — and Steve just opened his fat, drunk mouth and casually admitted to being in love with Eddie.

Eddie, the guy who hated him for years. The guy who tried to knife him the first time they interacted as neighbors.

The guy whose silhouette has started to fill the passenger seat in Steve's Winnebago dreams.

Eddie’s here, but he’s not here; probably posted up somewhere in the basement so he can deal to the stoners and the horny kids playing Spin the Bottle, and Steve—

Steve knows he falls too fast. Always has, but especially now. Steve fell for Eddie like a gunshot going off: a deafening bang, gurgling fish sounds, blood all over the floor. He kinda thinks he couldn’t help it. Kinda thinks he’d do it again.

And how could he not, when Eddie smiles at him like that? When he takes him apart so sweetly with his words, his lips, his tongue? When he dragged Steve by the hand into the back pew of a midnight mass on Christmas Eve, giggling about how he was shocked his satanic worship hadn’t set the bench aflame?

Yeah.

Steve totally understood why Jesus got up on that cross.

“Oh, my god,” Robin rolls her eyes with a strangled huff. “Are you seriously just—? You’re fucking hopeless.”

Yeah, he is, and yes, he is. “No,” he insists, crossing his arms over his chest and trying not to feel like a defiant kid who got caught lying to his mother, because yeah, he totally is spacing out into lovesick La La Land while being actively accused of spending too much time there lately. “I’m not fucking hopeless, and it’s not too soon.”

Robin gapes at him like 'are you kidding me right now?' “Steve!”

“Robin!” he answers, mimicking her tone. Wow. Vodka makes him petulant.

It makes Robin stubborn as hell. She juts her chin out and hollers over the music, gesturing so aggressively she almost spills her drink, “Admit that it’s too soon!”

“It isn’t!” Steve shouts back; digs his heels in and refuses to budge, never mind the fact that it’s only been, like, three weeks since Eddie fingered him for the first time oh, god, don’t think about Eddie’s fingers right now.

They stare at each other for a second, Robin’s nostrils flaring with the words she so clearly wants to yell at him, her breaths coming hot and harsh, and then, with a long sigh, her shoulders deflate. Her chin comes down. She bites her lip again, teeth turning the skin white as her eyes go big and sad. Worried. She's worried for him because she loved him first.

Steve smiles at her, a quick, closed-lip thing that feels more like shrugging with his mouth, and he leans into her space; pats her cheek and thumbs her chin until she stomps chomping on her lip.

“You’re gonna get it all chapped,” he says in a hush, hoping her Steve translator is still intact after a couple drinks. Hopes she knows that he’s really saying ‘I hear you’ and ‘I love you, too; I love that you care’ because they're at a party and god does he not feel like saying sappy friendship shit out loud.

Robin’s eyes get misty. Just for a second — message received; copy that — and she clears her throat and shakes it off. Points at something over Steve’s shoulder and drags him to the other side of the room.

—

part 45

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #platonic stobin #my writing #my fic

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asratery · 1 year

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Miguel O’Hara x Spider-Man!Male Reader Pt. 2

Continuation of my previous post due to request :)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

cw: implied oral sex (r receiving), love bites, sex omg just sex, top reader, bottom miguel, miguel gets fucked, reverse cowgirl and leapfrog positions, breeding kink, pet names, semi-public sex, use of y/n, crying, established relationship (at the end tho)

Didn’t expect people to actually like the first part 🥹 this is for y’all

@sad-author-san @dragonspaint09

(word count: 2.6K+)

“Go lock the door.” Your voice was full of lust, a wave of arousal sweeping over you at Miguel’s whimper. You had no idea your superior could make such pretty noises. How were you just now taking notice of the pretty creature in your hospital room? Were you blind? You’d never really noticed just how alluring your boss was, face and figure, up until now. And the man touched himself to you groaning? Was this even the first time? Oh, you were gonna be up for a couple hours now.

He was extra careful during foreplay, despite your encouragement to do what he pleased, gently unraveling the wrap shirt the hospital gave you, uncovering your mouthwatering physique. Sat in your lap, his fangs gently nipped your pecs, indulging in one of his many desires that you so generously allowed as you stroked the tops of his firm thighs with your bandaged hands, groaning at the sight of his love bites. He scooted back before leaning down further, his tongue laving over the ridges of your abs, his fangs somehow even gentler as he nipped what skin he could without further irritating your still recovering ribs.

You slid a hand down Miguel's spine, hooking a finger over the waistband of his pants as he looked up at you, a shy expression on his face as a string of saliva connected between his pointed tongue and your abdomen. What a fucking tease. "I don't have any lube." Miguel whispered, a sultry look in his eyes. He was testing your patience. Testing you. He knew you could move only but so much with your injuries. You gripped the back of his hair, pressing his head closer to the large tent in your sweatpants. "You will." You said in a low tone, staring him down with a predatory gaze.

Miguel felt dizzy as he bounced in your lap, the room filled with sounds of your skin making contact followed by his whimpers and whines. His rapid inhales were quivery and heavy as he tried to hold back his cries of pleasure, fat tears dripping down his cheeks. It was far past visiting hours, and the last thing Miguel wanted was a nurse coming in and seeing the owner of the damn building riding one of their patients like his life depended on it.

He was leaned forward, his upper half propped up by his clawed hands, tearing into the hospital sheets between your brawny thighs. He rode every inch of your length, rising till the bulbous tip of your cock was left before slamming his hips back down. His hole was gobbling up every last bit of you, sinking down on every vein decorating your girth with ease, mouth ajar, drool leaking from the corners of his mouth as hoarse cries were held back.

Y/n was groaning in Miguel’s ear, a mix of pain from the movement on your recovering body and pleasure as his hole fluttered around you. Miguel grew worried at the sound of your occasional pained grunts, slowing his pace and turning his head to try and look back at you. “Are you alright?” He asked with a wary expression. You didn’t respond, opting to wrap one of your calloused hands around his hip, slamming him back down on your cock while the other muffled the shaky sob that erupted from him. “Don’t fucking stop.” You growled into Miguel’s ear, causing him to nod frantically, warm tears transferring from his flushed cheeks to your hand as he resumed his desperate pace.

Miguel’s bottom lip trembled as he moved, your cock reaching deep inside him in ways he didn’t know was possible. Every thrust rocked against his delicate prostate as his own cock hung heavy over the sheets, dripping pre onto the bedding. “M’ close, y/n, so close.” Miguel was practically sobbing as he spoke in a hoarse voice. His arms were struggling to hold himself up, his vision flickering every time the underside of your cock ground against his bundle of nerves.

“Keep going for me, mami, c’mon.” Your voice was raspy in his ear and the name slipped off your tongue so easily as your hands rubbed up his sides. Miguel let out a low sob at the label, his pace was frantic as he bounced in your lap. He had never been more thankful for his strict training regime, giving him the strength to keep moving on your cock even with the burning sensation in his thighs.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Miguel whined hoarsely, his eyes rolling back with each drop of his hips. Your mind was battling between different desires, a part of you wanting to reach around Miguel and stroke him to finish, but another wanted to watch him unravel on your cock alone. Fuck it. You reached one of your hands forward, teasing his tip with your thumb while your other hand held his hip lightly. Miguel came undone quickly, his cum coating your fingers as he sobbed out your name, tears streaming down his pretty cheeks.

Miguel’s arms were trembling too much to hold himself up, slowly bending them and lowering his upper half down to the bed as his tears soaked into the sheets below. Your hard cock was still nestled inside him as his last few drops of release dripped onto the fabric, his hips stationary as they trembled above yours.

You weren’t done. Not yet. You gritted your teeth as you prepared to reposition, sliding the IV out of your arm before gripping Miguel’s hips as you lifted him a few inches off your cock, prompting him to whine softly. “I know, mami, I know.” You said soothingly as you bent your leg, readjusting yourself to kneel behind Miguel while propping his lower half up on his knees to properly meet his hips with yours.

The position was a bit painful on your still recovering ribs as you leaned over him, but that didn’t matter in this moment. You reached a hand back, grabbing one of your pillows. You wrapped your other arm under him, your forearm pressing into his chest as you gripped his neck, lifting him like a toy before stuffing the pillow under him and dropping him back down onto it, giving him something to muffle his sweet noises with. He was going to need it, cause you weren’t in the mood for mercy.

Miguel was bawling into the pillow as you moved, pounding into him at a brutal pace. Your eyes were raking over what you could see of his body as you leaned over him, one hand pressed into the bedding next to his head and the other gripping his hip tightly. His back arched so prettily to meet your thrusts, the muscle of his ass smushed against your pelvis every time you bottomed out and—Oh my god. Was this love? He took you so goddamn well. So perfect. You could tell this was his first time getting fucked by an actual cock. He must’ve relied on toys up until now. Did he think of you when he used those too? You wanted to ask him, but you could tell from his body’s reaction to your size that none of his little imitations could compare to you. His breathing was erratic and some of his inhales were choked off by a mix of sobs and moans.

“You’re doing so good, cariño, taking me so well.” Your voice was husky as you felt yourself steadily approaching your climax, your ears filled with the sound of Miguel’s cries in response to your words. “Can’t wait to fuck that pretty mouth of yours when I’m out of here.” Miguel nodded weakly at your words, his arms wrapped around the pillow as his head swayed in sync with each of your thrusts. You couldn’t believe the situation you were in. You would’ve been deep in denial if someone told you you’d be balls deep in your boss only eight months after being brought on the team. "Can't believe you were hiding this pretty thing from me for so long." You muttered, your words accompanied by a harsh spank against Miguel's right cheek, grinning when you heard him yelp and felt a flutter around your cock in response.

Fuck it. Miguel didn’t care anymore. If someone caught you two in the act, then so be it. He was doing a bit of everything now. Sobbing, moaning, sniveling, mewling, whimpering. He thought you’d cum not too long after him, but the rising feeling in his gut of another climax approaching him as well as your relentless pace said otherwise.

Miguel had a terrifying thought in the back of his mind that this all was just a lust on your end, only doing this for mutual pleasure, nothing more. Those fears were quickly erased however when he felt you slow your pace to a grind, the length of your member rocking against his prostate as you leaned down, pressing tender kisses against the muscles in his back. Your hand on his hip massaged circles into his soft flesh as you whispered sweet words into his ear, your cock grinding deep inside him as his eyes rolled back.

You had a strong urge to taunt him, make your little leader beg for your cock. You didn’t pick up the pace, opting to murmur against his nape, suggesting that maybe you two should leave it at this tonight, claiming that you didn’t want to overwhelm him with another orgasm. In the midst of giving your (fake) reasoning, Miguel had already reached one of his clawed hands out, gripping the wrist of your hand that rested next to his head, nearly drawing blood. He blabbered out a bunch of pleads, clearly distraught by your recommendation. “I can take it, I can take it,” his whines were cut off by a snivel, thick tears flowing down his face in desperation, “I need you, y/n, you can’t stop now. I need you to cum insi—”

You pulled back, sliding your cock out just enough for the tip to catch on his hole before slamming back inside him, resuming your merciless pace. “Fuck, you want me to fill you up, baby?” You grunted out between your thrusts. “Make me a daddy?” Miguel was delirious, couldn’t even respond as his eyes rolled back, drool leaking past his puffy lips and onto the pillow below him. You tucked your head against the curve of his nape, muttering dirty things in his ear as you pounded into him.

God, normally you didn’t like talking, but tonight you were feeling chatty. “Answer me, mami. Or do you want me to stop?” Miguel’s voice was hoarse and whiny, slurring his words as he got more and more drunk on your cock. “I wan’ it, I wan’ it.” He couldn’t hold his head up even a few inches anymore, slumping into his tear-stained pillow as he got closer and closer to his second orgasm. “You can have it, baby, it’s all yours.” You groaned into his ear, your own climax approaching. “Take everything, my first born, my last name, take it all, mami.”

Your pace stuttered as you climaxed, filling Miguel up with your seed as you bit his nape harshly. The sensations drove Miguel over the edge, staining the sheets below him for the second time tonight as he sobbed your name into the pillow. It was too much for him, falling into darkness only moments later, the sound of you clicking a few buttons on his wrist watch being his last memory before succumbing to his exhaustion.

Miguel woke up the next morning in your burly arms, his head tucked against your neck as the two of you laid on your sides, facing one another. He was sweating a bit, your body emitting heat like a furnace as he tried to recall the concluding events of the previous night. He was in a foreign room now, dressed in some of your clothing, sunlight illuminating the little signs of life around the large bedroom. Your room. Clearly well furnished as he took notice of the mini living room in one of the walls of the room.

Miguel knew you were wealthy, known for your business relations all over your Earth. He was always a bit perplexed at how little time you spent in your own dimension, always either scouring other Earths for anomalies or spending time in HQ, debriefing Miguel on your expeditions while awaiting your next assignment. Like a machine. This always irked him, nearly made him wonder if his attraction to you was just objectification. But now that he had a clear view of your rarely unmasked face, he could see that he was wrong. That the Spider-Man of this Earth was very much human.

You let out a low groan as you slowly awoke, your arms tightening around Miguel before lowering the arm that wasn't smushed under his side to rest on his waist. "The nurses are gonna be angry when they see I'm not in my room." You murmured in a husky voice, your eyes still closed. "I'll make an excuse for you, they won't argue with me." Miguel whispered back, a giddy smile spread across his face as his heart fluttered at the sound of your voice.

You could practically hear the smile in Miguel's voice, slowly opening your eyes to meet his. Miguel was a bit surprised at the satisfied look in your eyes, a bashful expression spreading on his face as his eyes darted away from yours. You squeezed an arm around his back, pulling him flush against you as your other hand squeezed the sore mound of his rear. "Don't be a prude, boss." You said in an undertone before pressing a tender kiss against his lips. Miguel accepted the kiss for a moment before quickly pulling his face back an inch from yours, a look of displeasure on his face. "C'mon, y/n, don't call me that right now." He mumbled, his eyebrows furrowed.

A small grin danced across your face as you turned, leaning your body over his as he shifted to lay flat under you, your arms bent and bordering around his head. "What would you prefer, Miguel?" You said in a low tone before you began pressing even softer kisses on his lips, his hands lifting to rest on your chest. "Mi vida?" A kiss. "Cariño?" Another one. "Or," you lowered your head enough so that your lips brushed against his when you spoke, "mami? You seemed to like that one last night." Miguel's lips pressed into a thin line at your last few words, a flush spreading across his cheeks at the memory. How fucking adorable.

"Y/n," Miguel murmured, a determination in his eyes, "what are we?" You stared down at him, thinking for a moment. "Y'know, I always knew when you were visiting me at night. I could feel you massaging lotion into my hands, or dripping antibiotics into my ear, or whispering stories about how you met Jessica. You're not very discreet." Miguel looked up at you, a vulnerable look on his face. "Why?" "I love you." Miguel blurted out a low tone, though his eyes were full of confidence. "I love you too." You replied in a softer tone, your elbows pressed into the firm mattress as your fingers ran through his hair.

Miguel looked like he could cry at the intimacy of the moment, but you beat him to it, one of your own tears dripping right below his eye before leaking down the side of his face. Miguel chuckled, reaching his hands up to hold your face. The two of you spent the morning exchanging kisses and sweet words before you both eventually had to return to HQ, returning to your room to receive a proper scolding from one of the older nurses.

Bro, I cannot put into words how badly I wanted to write miguel giving head. Imma have to save it for a part three where reader is fully recovered 😔 (obvi only if yall want it)

But yea, i hope yall enjoyed this 😆 It's like 3AM rn so I'm going to bed ✌️ feel free to let me know about any typos

#miguel o'hara x male reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #x male reader #astv miguel #male reader #sub miguel o'hara #dom male reader #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x male reader #sub!miguel o’hara

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roxy-writes · 2 years

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when dabi thrusts into you for the first time he shudders. his body shakes. his vision flashes completely white for a second, he can't do anything but feel you. a simple shift of his hips makes his cock press harder against your walls, causing him to nearly collapse. each quivery thrust shoves him closer to cumming. he hunches closer to you and hugs your body to his as his hips buck into yours. you can feel all of him too, every single vein along his twitching cock and every tremble of his body. it's pure and at the same time the most lewd thing he's ever done, and he loves it. loves the way you feel so soft, the way you can't help but squeeze his cock when he hits that spot inside you, the way the pleasure is so overwhelming his mind is barely even functioning. he can't stop chasing the feeling and he doesn't want to, not when your face is contorting like that. and then, fuck, you're cumming, and you're clamping around him. and then he's cumming too and it feels so fucking good he might cry, if he could. the noises he makes have you wishing you could save this moment and replay it over and over again so you never forget the way his breath hitches as he pants when he fills you up.

#dabi x reader smut #dabi x reader #dabi smut #mha x reader #mha smut #mha x reader smut #bnha x reader smut #bnha smut #bnha x reader

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almayver · 1 month

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Holy fuck alma. I’m back and I thought about it hard (havent stopped since i saw your post about hanahaki but semantics)

LISTEN. I mentioned that Phum coughs again in the scene where they kiss thrice. I like to think that he holds off then. He coughs but he doesn’t let a single petal slip because Peem is right there, worried sick and trying to make Phum stop.

Oh the devastating gentleness of that scene. There wouldn’t be the iconic kisses, not with what’s happening to Phum. But he would still be half on top of Peem, trying to calm his breathing while Peem cradles his face with quivery fingers and whispers, “What’s happening to you?”

Phum would write it off as a cold, because even though he knows Beer told him he needs to have a talk, he can’t do it like this. He doesn’t even know how to initiate such a talk. How do you tell your crush “I’m coughing my love for you out, because I feel like you don’t feel the same?”

Talk about pressure.

SO. SO IMAGINE. Imagine the scene of the night when Phum confessed, in the show. The circumstances. Imagine how much worse it would be if instead of confessing, Phum has the biggest coughing fit in front of all their friends, flowers blood and all.

Because. That night Peem stood up to confess. Yet he didn’t. Because of insecurities, because of overthinking, because of something. And maybe Phum looked forward to it, maybe Phum wanted it so very badly. Even if there is undercurrent thought that Peem likes him back, hanahaki does require a spoken confession of love to recede.

So when Phum brings attention to himself after Peem fumbles his confession, still with the intention of doing it himself— of confessing to Peem that he likes him (because maybe then Peem will say it back, and his sickness will finally begin to fade) he doesn’t succeed.

Because as soon as he says, “Peem—“

The coughing starts, triggered by faint pang of dissapointment that Peem didn’t end up confessing first. It starts so hard that Phum ends up folding over the table between them, blood spilling like a river between the fingers pushing against this lips, petals flooding his mouth.

Peem’s backyard becomes a chaos of cries and shock and worry and Peem is absolutely horrified and Fang (who still didn’t know) is over Phum, hyperventilating because what the fuck is happening to his brother—

Only Beer is aware. And he’s the only one bolting to action. Taking hold of Phum’s shoulders and telling him to spit all the petals because if he doesn’t the coughing doesn’t stop.

And that’s the reveal. That night doesn’t end up with a confession (or maybe it does), but with a pale Phum on Peem’s bed, looking blankly at the ceiling while his brother and friends and Peem hover and fuss over him.

Imagine if the angst stretches because Fang comes up to Beer and demands to know what the fuck is happening, Peem on his tail because he’s also anxious and wants to know and Phum refuses to tell them anything yet. Merely shakes his head and burrows his face harder in Peem’s pillow.

And Beer stares at them defeatedly and tells them that he has hanahaki, an infliction that usually manifests when the one you like doesn’t like you back. He doesn’t say more because it’s not his place.

IMAGINE Fang and Peem are both dumbstruck and devastated, but for two different reasons— Fang, because he knows the whole deal. Knows the one next to him is causing it unwittingly. And Peem…

Peem because he thinks Phum likes someone, and it might not be him after all. Because this someone and his disinterest for Phum is actively harming Phum.

And it can’t be him, right? He’s accepted that he likes Phum since before camp. Had said it to his plushie, even. It can’t be him, right?

I like to imagine that Fang might want confront Peem about it, because his brother had such a painful episode and enough is enough. He takes half an hour to think about it— what Phum might say or how upset he’ll be if he interferes without his consent. But Fang just witnessed him nearly coughing his lungs out so???

But he doesn’t get the chance because Peem has already rushed up to his room to have his own confrontation with Phum.

Just. Peem sitting next to Phum’s dazed figure, feeling so unsteady inside, and softly asking, “Who’s the one hurting you like this?”

It took a lot to get it out, but the fears if it remains unanswered or unsaid is worse.

This conversation has to be crazy. So many outcomes. AaaGhhhhhh AGHHS ALMA ALMAAA

Does Phum admit that it’s Peem, when Peem is looking at him with such pain on his face, such unstable fear? Can he? CAN HE ADMIT IT?

And what if Peem has had this little thought that it might be himself after all? What if his biggest fear is that he made Phum think he didn’t like him at all, and caused all this? What if he’s proven right? Where do they go from there?

Phum would tell him that it’s not his fault. Because it’s not. Because love cannot be controlled by anyone, least of all Peem and Phum.

The Peem angst has to be crazy, because he’s just this guy who has made people around him feel so comfortable and loved all this life, and indirectly he caused Phum pain. It has to be so fucked up for him, for his gentle soul. He has to go through it hard.

I have many thoughts about all this. I rambled so much to you, alma. Alma I want this as a fic so badly. Alma what do I do. What do WE do.

I want slow burn and angst and happy ending. I want suffering but also comfort and I want whump. And a lot of stuff. AHHHSJEJDKSKS

I smiled like a mad man during this whole thing because YES. YEEEEEES. THIS IS EVERYTHING I WANTED

The ANGST. Baby the ANGST. It would go so fucking hard. Oh one of my favorite Hanahaki tropes is the person finding out and trying to help while being sure it's not them. The LAYERS. THE DRAMA.

But having Peem be there and not knowing what would be worse? If Phum loves someone else (and he loves them this hard) or if it's him and he is the one hurting him?

And the thing about phrasing it like that is, Phum would never say it's Peem. Because he might be dying but Peem has never hurt him. So I think he wouldn't admit it. He would just stay quiet. Still a little dazed, maybe slowly caressing Peem's cheeks, trying to understand why they are a little wet.

And so they move on. Except no one does but Phum. Everyone else keeps looking at him like he is about to keel over at any point and Fang is in between throttling him and wanting to bundle him up in his favorite blanket with his plushies and keep him safe. Beer is in a similar state.

And of course. You know how I am Cole. You know my agenda

Q going up to him, grabbing him and taking him to a secluded corner and just going "Tell him". Because Q is not blind, because he can't bear that Toey is going crazy from worry for his brother, because he hates seeing Peem so devastated, because he will not admit it under pain of death but he cares about Phum and hates to see him suffering every time he coughs.

And Phum. Phum can't. And let's add one of my favorite versions of Hanahaki here. And it's that what you need more than the confession, is to accept it. (Which!!! Would work so fucking nicely with them theme of the show about part of love is accepting that love. "Thanks for letting me be an important person in your life. Thanks for letting me love you. Etc etc ETC!")

So Phum, Phum knows Peem has feelings for him. He does. He is a mess of insecurities and pain and fear but objectively? He knows. He had an inkling before but seeing Peem lately it's getting kind of hard to deny.

The problem is that he doesn't think he deserves those feelings! He literally can't accept the idea of Peem loving him. Someone so messed up and repressed that he got fucking flowers growing in his lungs. So yeah Peem has feelings for him but he shouldn't. He has feelings for Phum but ... It will pass. Because Peem deserves better than him

And because we need a trigger let's bring the annoyance back. Let's have Kluen being unaware of the situation (because he bothered me but I don't think he is an asshole). And we get the scene in the café, except Phum is there. Because nowadays Phum kind of really lives there because Peem refuses to let him out of his sight and keeps making him tea to soothe his throat.

And so Kluen is there (again) and he is so calm and nice (he is better than Phum) , and that's what sends him into a really bad coughing fit. Like bad bad, with the thorns and stuff. And maybe he ran to Peem's bedroom before it got really bad. So he is just sitting there in the middle of the room, surrounded by blood and petals and thorns. And roses. Not the ones in his lungs but the ones Peem still keeps and...the ones in the painting.

And Peem comes rushing in and just, his heart is on the floor. And he cleans the mess up while Phum is still sitting there. Just staring at the painting. And then Peem sits in front of him and grabs his face and forces him to look at him. And Peem is crying. Crying because the boy he loves is in so much pain and crying because yeah. It's him isn't it. Unless Phum has the weirdest crush ever on Kluen.

And he just grabs his face and kisses him softly on his forehead, and his cheeks and his nose all while softly muttering "you dumbass. You buffalo. It's me isn't it?"

And Phum is devastated but also says in the most helplessly broken voice "Of course it's you. Who else could it be" and now Phum is also crying and trying to move away and shaking his head because "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You deserve better"

And Peem is crying harder while also smiling and he leans forward and lets their foreheads rest together and "Who could be better than you? Huh?"

And that's it folks I don't have more. COLE HELP THIS IS GOING TO HAUNT ME FOREVER. Cole I also need this as a fic. And maybe as a movie too.

The first person to write hanahaki for We are is legally obligated to tag me. I need that

#IM HERE NOW. I DONT THINK I CAN LEAVE #cole #thunder-point #we are the series #Phumpeem #Phumpeem hanahaki au

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r4gg3dy4ndy · 10 months

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pathetic.

wheres gideon? (proper capitalization and grammar in the fic.) (983 words.)

gideon graves x reader

"Hey, I'm home!" You wait for Gideon to rush you like he normally does when you get home, but there's not even a responce. Weird. You had just begun to get used to it. You walk further into your home, noticing it's cleaned up. Gideon must have cleaned for you. You walk into the living room to thank him, but... he's not in there either. Strange. He must be in the bathroom, then. You hang up your bags, coat and such and walk over to the record player, going to put on some music, but the album you were looking for isn't in the holder. Must be in your room. You walk over to your room when you hear... soft whines? You crack open the door just a little to see whats happening, when you see him. Gideon Gordon Graves, pathetically humping the mattress in your bed, laying in your bedsheets, with your name falling from his lips. How did you not hear him before? He's loud, moaning and whimpering like a dog in heat. He buryed his face in your pillow, and he's turned the other way, so he doesn't see you as you watch him. You feel kinda perverted for watching him like this (as well as actively enjoying it), but he is basically fucking your mattress. You sneak up behind him and due to how loud his moans are he doesn't hear you, completely caught up in the moment. It's cute, in a way. "Gideon." He immediately freezes up, stilling his motions completely. The tips of his ears burn red at how he was caught. You take his shoulders, flipping him around to face you. All he does is stare up at you, slackjawed. "Well? Got anything to say?" He begins to splutter out a response, but he keeps stuttering and gives up after just a moment. "S- Sorry..." He looks genuinely terrified - Oh god, he probably thinks you're gonna kick him out. You climb into the bed with him, taking his face in your hands. You place a gentle kiss on his forehead. He looks absolutely shocked, blushing so hard. It's... honestly, fucking adorable. "I'm not gonna kick you out, kay? You can still stay. You... want me to help you out?" He nods quickly, looking up at you in the most pleading way. Does he really want you that bad? You both shuffle, him moving to sit up, kneeling on the bed in front of you. "Ah... Could you... Can I r- ride your thigh?" He bites his lip, voice quivery. You nod, and he nearly pounces onto you, positioning himself in the way that would be easiest for him to fuck onto you. He moans like a bitch, head in the crook of your neck. You grip onto his hips, making him go slower. He looks over at you, whining. He looks so confused, panting and groaning.

"Why- Why'd you s- stop me?" You chuckle a bit, condecendingly. "Aww, pretty thing... Did you really think that you got to control this?" You pet him, grinning. He stammers a bit and blushes harder, realizing the direction you're going. He's quick to give in, letting you control him. He moans louder, seeming to enjoy it way more when you control him. You force him to come to a complete stop. He whines again, trying to grind into you more but you don't let him. "Nuh-uh, sweet thing... if you wanna keep going, you're gonna beg." It's as if a switch is flipped in his head, immidiately beginning to beg. His pathetic little whines and begs are adorable. "Please! F- fuck, I need it, need you, please, please! Le- Let me cum! Please!" He's tearing up. You act as if you're contemplating it, before shaking your head no. He looks so desperate, now beginning to cry. You've never felt more turned on by something like this. You act as if you're annoyed, pressing him down onto bed beneath you. You pull off his pants, taking his cock out. He arches his back up into your hold, having to press him back down into the mattress. He tries to keep his hip down as you slowly begin to stroke him, his cock wet with precum. You lean down betwixt his thighs, taking his cock into your mouth. You hum, taking him in deep. He's crying even harder, moaning loudly, nearly shouting your name as you begin to suck him off. He tries to grab your hair, so you slide it out of your mouth with a small pop. You pin his hands down to the bed, tears rolling down his cheeks. You pause. "Hey... Do you want me to stop?" He shakes his head no. You tap his chin, wanting him say it. "N- No, no, please, keep going..." He whines, wanting more. You nod, going over to the closet for just a sec. He sits up for a moment, before seeing you pull out a pair of padded handcuffs. You shackle him to the handboard, going back down to suck his cock. You do so fervently, him hitting the back of your throat. He's moaning loudly, pulling against the cuffs roughly. You can feel his cock twitch in your mouth, pulling back off. He nearly screams, lifting his hips up off the bed in a vain attempt to get the stimulation back. "Please! No, no, I was so- ngh- so close!" He sniffles cutely. You chuckle, deciding to give him what he wants. You go back down to suck him off, still keeping him pressed onto the mattress. He cums down your throat, screaming out, eyes rolling back in pure bliss. You run your hands through his hair as he comes down from his high. "Thank you..." You nod, kissing his forehead. You undo the handcuffs as he presses you down onto the mattress. "My turn."

#gideon graves #gideon graves x reader

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