#sal.snippets

[averycutesalamander]

im starting to think i have a fixation on pussy drunk boothill

[averycutesalamander]

deeply obsessed with them

[averycutesalamander]

ok uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh pseudoincest under the cut again. and uh. general nsft content. see previous post for more context lol

ok. the club scene. im doing all of these snippets as regular text instead of screenshots bc there's too damn much lol.

so before you get there there's this bit:

You dress a lot sluttier than is strictly necessary. Heels, fishnets, a low-cut crop top, a tight leather jacket, a truly obscene miniskirt – the whole nine yards. The jacket is probably your favorite part; it frames your bust so perfectly that the instant you try it on, you know you'll have to keep it. You spruce it up with some colored bracelets and a bit of extra jewelry, but as a whole, it speaks for itself. …The collar is probably the most egregious part of the whole outfit. You don't get a custom name tag, though, which is comforting in the sense that it makes you feel like a little less of a freak. It could be worse. It's just to fit in. Obviously. Just to fit in.

(and i havent written it yet but trust me when i tell you that this poor man almost has a fucking stroke when he sees you JHABWJHABFJHBFJ)

so you both get there and you're doing some scouting, right. and you notice that occasionally some individual people or couples will go past this guarded door, and they all have these bracelets that have a really particular pattern. so obviously bracelet = some kinda passkey probably. he also recognizes one of the people that goes through as one of the people behind the operation, so that just confirms that the underground area is through there. so you send him off to go yoink a bracelet from somebody when they're alone, and you chill by the bar to keep an eye out. and then a guy walks up and starts chatting you up.

"You're new here, right?" the stranger asks. Your heart jumps into your throat, and your nervous laugh isn't entirely for show. "What gave it away?" "I'm here pretty often." He leans in with a smirk. "And new blood always has a particular look when they walk in here." Then, his gaze falls down to your collar, and his grin widens even further. "No leash, huh?" Your face flushes with heat at the thought, because now you're thinking about Boothill holding your leash, and holy shit, you need to cut that out right the fuck now. You laugh with no small amount of awkwardness, fiddling with your hands as you look away. "Oh, I, um… didn't think to put one on, honestly." He hums, taking a sip of his drink. "Well, hey," he begins, reaching back into his pocket. Then, to your horror, he pulls out a leather leash, black with red designs; before you can even blink, he leans forward and clips it onto your collar with all the ease of breathing. Your mortification multiplies ten times over when he twists the length of it around his wrist, forcing you closer. "Fresh meat gets freebies," he says flirtily, grinning like the cat that got the cream.

and that's when boothill gets back. and he's fucking PISSED.

"Back off," he snarls, low and dangerous, like the rumble of thunder that signals an incoming storm. "C'mon, man, we're just having a little–" Boothill grabs him by the collar, his eyes gleaming red like blood, his bared teeth glinting in the club lights. "I don't share." You swear your heart stops dead in your chest. You did not just feel a pulse in your core. You did not just have a shiver run up your spine. You are being so, so normal right now. You are having a completely normal reaction. The stranger suddenly pales, letting you go without missing a beat. "H– Hey, woah. Sorry, I just thought– With the bracelet–" Oh. Oh, fuck. Your fucking bracelets. You tug quickly at Boothill's sleeve, starting to sweat at the feeling of eyes on you. "C'mon, let him go." You feel like a cornered prey animal when he turns his gaze to you, his eyes smoldering like coals in the dim light. "You think I'm just gonna let him–" God, you want to strangle him. You grab his jacket and yank him close as you lean forward. Then, you hiss in his ear, "They think you're my dom, and they think ya wanna share me." You bite hard on your lip when he chokes, no doubt sprinting through every stage of grief just like you did only moments ago. "They probably use color codes to know if someone is down to share or not, and I'm a fuckin' moron, and I didn't think about my bracelets."

so then the two of you skitter off, feeling EXTREMELY awkward, and then. and then. and thenahbwdawjdhabwjdhab

(for some reason this part does not want to indent so just pretend it's indented)

-

You can feel the prickle of suspicious eyes on you.

Shit. Someone saw that fuck-up. Anyone legitimate would know the color codes, and the fact that you didn't calls the whole thing into question. If they give your invites a second glance, it wouldn't be difficult to cross check to confirm your identities, and at that point you can kiss that data – and probably your life – goodbye.

You can't go for the door – not while you're being watched. You need to quell suspicions, but how?

Your horrible, wretched, disgusting mind provides a single answer, and no other.

Fuck. Fuck. You're panicking. You're panicking, and you need a second to think without having to worry about looking sketchy. And in a crowded place like this, there's really only one way to get a modicum of privacy.

You spin around, grabbing Boothill by the jacket and yanking him against you, forcing him to pin you to the wall. You're almost alarmed by how easily he follows you; surely he could've resisted, right?

…Wishful thinking. It doesn't matter.

This is for the mission. For the mission. It's for the mission.

He freezes against you, his body somehow going even more rigid than it already is, then immediately starts to pull away.

"Somebody's watchin' us," you quickly whisper. "Act like– Act like you're touchin' me. If they check our invites, we're fucked."

He swallows heavily, but he obeys; your heart leaps into your throat when he crowds closer, his arms on either side of you. His hair brushes against you as he leans down, hovering over the crook of your neck. One of his hands trails down, hovering hesitantly over your hip, and you're struck by the soul-crushing realization that you're on the verge of begging him to just fucking touch you.

For the mission. For the mission.

It's for the fucking mission.

You feel like you're going to lose your mind. You can smell him, rich and masculine and damn near identical to the way it was years and years ago, and wow, you do not appreciate the fact that you can remember that so clearly. His presence is intoxicating, so heady that it leaves you dizzy. It only gets worse when he shifts, moving until his lips are hovering right beneath your jaw, and god, fucking shit, you would do fucking anything to have him bite you right now. You want to feel his hands, his teeth, his–

"This is crazy," he mutters, and you fight to restrain a shiver when the hot wash of his breath hits your skin. "I oughta just light this whole place–"

You'll choose to believe that the spike of panic that runs through you is a reasonable fear for your safety, and not rooted in something much, much worse.

"Do not blow our cover," you hiss. "You might survive gettin' shot full a' holes, but I definitely won't."

He makes a noise that seems mildly offended. "I wouldn't let ya get shot."

"Yeah, well, I'd really rather not test it." You swallow, readjusting your hands clenched in his jacket. He's so fucking warm you can feel it radiating into you despite the distance. "And if we fuck this up now, there's no way we're ever gettin' that data."

He makes a displeased sound, something close to a growl, and holy fucking god in heaven, he's right next to your ear, and the gravel in his voice just ran straight down your spine and into your core and what in the absolute fuck is wrong with you–

"You got eyes on whoever's watchin'?" he rasps, and you startle slightly when you realize that your eyes slid closed without even realizing.

Get it together. Get it together.

"Girl at the far end of the bar, fourth seat from the left." Your palms are sweating. It only gets worse when you see the stranger move. "Fuck. She's getting up."

"Where's she goin'?"

His lips just barely brush against your skin when he speaks, and for a moment, your entire thought process is completely derailed, because you swear on your life you just felt him shiver, but–

"Focus," he growls, and your core clenches so tight that you're honestly worried you're about to pass out.

Still, you obey – and you're glad you did, because your heart leaps into your throat.

Shit. Now your nerves are reasonable.

"Toward us."

"Son of a forkin' bench," he hisses. "Sorry 'bout this, kid."

You swear your heart stops dead in your chest when he reaches down, grasping both of your thighs and hauling you up against the wall like you're lighter than air. Unthinkingly, you hook your legs around his waist, and there is absolutely no reason that you should wrap around him so perfectly, with your thighs slotting snugly against his hips. Then, he presses as close as he can without actually touching you, the chill of his metal palms biting into the tender skin of your thighs in a way that's so good it transcends words.

And then he starts to move.

He doesn't touch you, but he starts to shift his hips like he's grinding into you, and holy shit you're going to die, you're going to keel over right here, your heart is going to explode in your chest and you're going to die–

The way he has to force your thighs open to avoid making contact is fucking unbelievable. Your legs are clenching involuntarily, fighting to draw him closer, to sate the ravenous hunger building in your gut – but he doesn't budge in the slightest. He's not even straining; the power imbalance is so impossibly uneven that you're practically helpless against the sheer force of his strength. He could shift your panties to the side right here and slide into you, and you wouldn't be able to stop him – wouldn't want to stop him.

You grit your teeth, frantically trying to recenter yourself, scrambling to create some facade of normalcy.

He's your uncle. He's probably twice your fucking age, and you knew him as a kid, and you thought he was hot as a teenager, and no you didn't you definitely didn't. You're normal. You're normal, and you aren't a fucking freak, and there's nothing broken in your brain and you're so incredibly normal. You aren't wet right now. You are not wet right now. Absolutely not. There is no way. Only a fucking freak would be wet right now, and you aren't a freak, so you aren't wet.

(You don't know why you're bothering to lie to yourself. You already knew the truth.)

He's your fucking uncle, and that reminder should immediately douse the fire raging in your gut, but the fact remains that it doesn't. You're burning hotter than ever, and everything you try only feeds the flames.

Even without him touching you directly, you can feel your cunt throbbing with need, aching so badly you could cry. The strangled whine that escapes your throat isn't even for show. You need him. You need him, and isn't that fucking despicable? You want him like no one you've ever wanted before. Even with the distance, you can feel the power behind every lax stroke of his hips, and all you can think about is how he'd feel sinking into you, how he'd fill you, how he'd stretch you to your limit. You want him so bad you could die, and isn't that awful? Because you'll never, ever have him.

You're in hell. You're in hell. You have the devil looming over your shoulder and between your legs and pressing in and there's nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and–

Suddenly, he readjusts so he's holding you up with one arm – fuck, he isn't even straining – and then snatches up your leash with his newly freed hand. You think your soul almost leaves your body when he tugs on it, just hard enough to make you jolt.

"Quit squirmin'," he growls, and you swear on your life he presses closer, because the very front of his jeans brushes against the thin fabric of your panties, a ghost of pressure against your clit. And then it happens again, just a little harder,and your vision goes white – and you're honestly, truly terrified that you just fucking came, but you didn't, and you aren't sure if that's better or worse. You worry that your teeth are going to fracture with how hard you're grinding them.

"I– I'm sorry," you hiccup, and you mean it, with your entire heart and soul. You're clenching your fists so hard in his jacket that your bones ache.

His voice makes you jump, even though he sounds substantially gentler now. "Still got eyes on her?"

You make a confused noise before you can fully process the question, and then embarrassment hits you full-force, clarity hitting you like a brick. Right. Obviously, that's… Right.

What a fucking lunatic. God, you need to get it together.

You scan the crowd as subtly as you can from over his shoulder, but you can't see her anymore, nor do you see anyone looking at you now. You're just another couple in a sea of people, unremarkable in your perversion, real or not.

"…No."

You don't fully manage to bite back a disappointed whimper when he puts you down, and your skin feels cold the moment his hands leave you.

Holy fuck, you are soaked. You can't even be demure about it. You're literally dripping down your thighs, and it's so fucking mortifying that you actually contemplate collapsing into yourself like a black hole. Get it together. Get it together.

"Let's get down there while we still can," he murmurs, and you almost jump out of your skin when his hand presses gently against your back, guiding you toward the guarded door.

-

THIS SCENE. THIS FUCKING SCENE. AFHWABFJHAWBFJAHBFHJAWFVBJAHGFVBAHWFVGAHGFVAH BLOWING MYSELF UP !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[averycutesalamander]

writing his POV in this fic is actually gonna wipe me out ngl

[averycutesalamander]

NO!! SNAKE BITE BOOTHILL I'LL FOREVER WAIT FOR YOI...... MY BELOVED

Silliness apart I 100% understand. I'll love anything you write. Can you give a taste of what ur writing right now? The 18k draft? I'm curious.....

by the way, do you think boothill would like whiskey? With 2 ice cubes?

-Snake Bite anon

edit: i wrote most of this like right when i got the ask (like two months ago i am SO sorry 💀) and meant to finish it immediately after but uhhh obviously that didnt happen. and in retrospect it is extremely funny how nervous i was to talk about this considering how bad my newest newest draft is. anyway here you go

-

oh god anon the can of worms youve just opened.. 😭 im sort of nervous talking about it but. im too obsessed with it to not finish and post it eventually so i guess i should just rip off the bandaid now.

cw pseudoincest under the cut but HEAR ME OUT HEAR ME OUT HEAR ME OUT

ok so for the record this is NOT MY FAULT. i was talking with (redacted) about how sad it is that one of my favorite writers sees him as an uncle. like, it's a familial thing. and we were joking like "well that wouldnt stop me lmao am i right guys" and it was all in good fun.

and then i started. Thinking About It. and entirely against my will my brain formed a plot. and at first i was just gonna write like a drabble or something to get it out of my system but uh. well.

yeah. so. yeah. so. ok. i know this looks bad but HEAR ME OUT. also spoilers for the first uhhhhh maybe half of the fic ?? two thirds of the fic???

ok so. this initially takes place before the IPC arrival. the reader gets adopted by one of his sisters when she's 5 because she was alone in the desert. she cant talk, and by the time she can, she doesnt remember what happened, so whatever. she meets boothill (who i am presently calling ahiga because i literally could not dodge around the name for that long) when she's 7 and LET ME EMPHASIZE THAT IT IS COMPLETELY PLATONIC AT THAT POINT. 100% PLATONIC. THERE IS NO GROOMING IN THIS FIC. OR UNDERAGE. ZERO. ZIP. ZILCH.

so reader is like.. cripplingly lonely with some major attachment issues. her mama's farm is pretty far from everyone else and there aren't many kids her age in the family, so she doesn't have many connections when she's younger. and she's a quiet kid, so she doesnt get much attention from the rest of her relatives. boothill can kinda see this to some degree, and i think hes sort of acquainted with loneliness (although his is largely self-inflicted at this point) so he kinda goes out of his way to include her in stuff and be nice to her. NOT in a creepy way, just in a regular cool uncle way. he teaches her how to ride horses, gives her sweets when mama isnt looking, that kind of thing. they don't see each other all that often but it's enough that they have a pretty solid, positive relationship.

so when shes like 16 she forms a teeny tiny itty bitty crush on him. just like. a little thing. and shes VERY aware that that's fucked up and she should cut that out immediately, but the thoughts kind of linger. but like.. presumably that'll just.. iron itself out eventually. with time. it's fine.

and almost immediately after that the IPC shows up and shit goes down. she and mama get kicked off their ranch and have to go shelter with nick and graey, and in the next week or so many other relatives follow. boothill ends up dropping off his daughter (who im calling manaba in this fic for the sake of naming consistency) to join the rebellion. reader helps out with the war effort, does supply runs, that kinda thing. when the ipc finally gives the kill order, shes between towns, and since they're targeting population centers, she escapes the direct blasts and shelters in a river to avoid the ensuing wildfires.

not everyone is so lucky, obviously. no one in her family (that she knows of) survives. some shit happens, but she ends up getting picked up by a group of survivors. skipping the details, several years go by. she doesnt really make any new friends, and the loneliness sinks its teeth into her - so she relies on the past to keep her grounded. the memories of her mom feel too painful, but her memories of her uncle feel.. safer. kinder, in a way. and in the back of her head, that tiny crush starts to fester. subconsciously, she starts to feed it, because the loneliness is ripping her apart, and this weird fucked up little fantasy feels like the safest way for her to keep it at bay. it's not a conscious thing, though. she's actively disgusted and disturbed by it every time it crosses her mind. it just kind of.. stews in the background.

she starts sleeping around to sate that loneliness. "There's a void in you that you haven't managed to fill. Something about having someone's hands on you makes the ache a little quieter, a little more manageable, but not by much." it's not born out of love, or any kind of affection - just a feral sort of desperation.

she never really feels like her partners fit her. when she finally realizes that shes chasing people with features that remind her of her dead fucking uncle, she promptly declares herself a freak forever and sentences herself to celibacy until she can figure out whatever the fuck is wrong with her brain.

she ends up leaving the planet, because staying is too painful. im a little foggy on the details here, but tldr she finds a mentor and gets into the tech scene, then the hacking scene, then starts doing what she can do fuck with the ipc wherever possible, etc etc. somehow, experiencing the impossible vastness of the universe, being surrounded by a functionally infinite amount of people, feels more lonely than ever. she's just kind of adrift in the world - sending money back home to help people make end's meet, generally just trying to find a reason to live beyond fear. there's a storm of emotions brewing inside of her - the hatred and the terror and the grief. she does all she can to spite the IPC, but it never feels like enough. it never feels like it does any good.

and then, years after the massacre, she's at a bar meeting with a client, and she sees him, and he sees her. and she's thinking "holy fucking shit that's my dead uncle" and he's thinking "holy fucking shit that's my dead niece" and they reunite and stuff. very heartwarming, very sweet, lots of tears (well. from her at least. he can't partake obviously 💀) and they start catching up over drinks.

and that's when he tells her his mission - that he knows who pulled the trigger, and who was behind the slaughter of their people. and she latches onto that HARD, because now she has a specific target for her emotional turmoil instead of the vague, amorphous concept of "the company." etc etc etc they agree to team up because he could use someone to help with behind-the-scenes stuff. and also because it's really nice to have someone around from home. so they exchange contact info and stuff, yay yay yippee

so they chat more, and they drink more, and reader maaaaaybe kinda sorta drinks a little too much. more than a little, actually. more than enough that her hold on her inner monologue slips and she starts thinking about how pretty he is. and suddenly that dormant little harmless crush that she was subconsciously feeding is swinging back around with a vengeance, because now it's real, and he's here, and he's ALIVE, and god did his lips always look that soft or-

and. well. eventually she uh. she might maybe kinda sorta ask if she can kiss him. and then processes the words that just came out of her mouth and starts CRYING because what the FUCK is wrong with her. and he like.. never addresses it directly. he just calms her down and makes sure she gets back to her hotel room and fucking DIPS.

BUT THE THING IS. THE THING IS. SHE WAKES UP THE NEXT MORNING. AND DOESN'T REMEMBER DOING IT. SO NOW HE KNOWS!! BUT SHE DOESN'T KNOW THAT HE KNOWS!!!! AND THEY HAVE TO ACT NORMAL!!!!!!!!!!!!

so the next bit is kinda loose and im probably gonna tweak some things. but. but. they have to go on a mission together. and.

yeah. im. yeah. they have to go to a bdsm club. together. and im sure you can guess. where im going with that. theres a particular section from the club scene that has been absolutely CONSUMING ME but idk if i should share that yet jawhbdjahwdbjawbajd unless somebody asks nicely ig. but jesus christtttttttttt it makes me feel insane. this whole fic makes me feel insane. the ending makes me want to chew my hands off but we'll get there when we get there. fucking pray for me because im not seeing the gates of heaven with this one

[averycutesalamander]

back on my bullshit with the slasher au and this interaction is fucking killing me

[averycutesalamander]

reading the snippet of this… fic that could get you in the box, and the ideas of Stockholm got my brain rolling… the idea of him having these struggles and outlets and getting this sick entirely new thrill from some ‘wallflower’ I feel could really affect his psyche hah… obviously we have no clue but if the reader is a wallflower or of the sorts then maybe they’re lonely in a different way boothill is— the idea of becoming dependent and like you said, of being both the knife that cuts and medicine that heals… waow. idk I’m all for unhealthy dependence from trauma bonds especially in a case like this; boothill needing to care for yet hurt, nurture and reader needing some sort of routine and care AGH idk now my brain is spinning giggles nd twirls around….

anyways … I hope you’ve been SOOOO WELL LOVELY, and despite any holds on other projects, ANYYYTHING written by you is a gift . just as you are 🖤 take care of yourself hon

- 🥛

OHHH MILK ANON HOW IVE MISSED YOU 💖💖💖 and yes 100% agree on all of this!!! and omg the bit about the reader being lonely but in a different way than he is.... god that is actually like. a perfect description of an element that i couldn't really put into words lol. it really is the codependency, isn't it.. uhhhhh here let me give you. a whole bunch of context lol

intro for the fic (i still think the opener is really funny lol. later we learn he lives on Elm Street 💀 it's not a hint at anything i just thought it would be an extremely goofy coincidence)

anddd this

and THIS, which is EXACTLY what i was thinking of about the loneliness thing!!

and that is SUCH a juicy dynamic to me. someone who feels like she's never been someone's first priority, who's never been anyone's first pick for their team in dodgeball at school.. what a horrible horrible setup for someone that will later become the obsession of a serial killer lol. be careful what you wish for i guess 💀

also im having a lot of fun with fleshing these characters out lol. Delilah in particular is sooooo fun to write it's ridiculous. she becomes reader's wingwoman later after she realizes Boothill isn't into HER, which is hysterical after reader angsts for so long about how she feels like she's "stealing" Boothill out from under her (when really SHE is the one being pursued) and she's gonna be so mad if she finds out because she's breaking like rule number one of girl code and oggghhhh she's such a bad friend.... and then when Delilah finds out she's like "FUCKING FINALLYYYYYY MY GIRL'S GONNA GET LAIDDDDDDD" LMFAO it kills me every time i go over that section. .....although i do need to rewrite some of it because ive slightly changed the setup of how she finds out....

anyway yeah it's so lovely to see you in my inbox as always 💖💖💖 im glad this resonated with you lol ive lowkey been nervous that the concept would turn people off immediately 💀 anyway LOVE YOU MWAH MWAH MWAH 💝

[averycutesalamander]

hi. ive been. busy. nsft snippets under the cut

lol. lmao, even.

[averycutesalamander]

Thigh-fucking with boothill drools

this one goes out to all my fellow thigh-fuckers out there ✊ 18+ under the cut, warnings for consensual nonconsent, gun play, and aphrodisiac use

[averycutesalamander]

ok not to jerk myself off too much but this dynamic is SO funny to me. chronic whore meets chronic cockblocker meets the sexiest man on earth

[averycutesalamander]

this accursed fucking boothill fic is sooo close to being done so here's my favorite excerpt so far

[averycutesalamander]

just a lil snippet :) warnings for cnc and gunplay under the cut. also he can swear in this one

[averycutesalamander]

jesus christ.

[averycutesalamander]

my sincerest apologies to the alpha voters (you speak your truth and i am honestly halfway on your team still) but this deranged beta / deranged omega dynamic was simply too insane for me to pass up

[averycutesalamander]

just droppin in before i go to sleep to say i will never stop thinking about how well u write His dirty talk…… on the brain 24/7 im so serious. anyways peace and lurvvv as always <3

AAAAAAAA thank you !!!! it's honestly really difficult to write with his censor in mind so i'm happy you like it so much ♥ i literally HEAR his voice in my head when i write it lol

another snippet (also just text) from mtct as a treat, because this is personally my favorite bit in the fic so far.... obligatory warning for spice lol

“I oughta bend you over my knee and spank that confidence outta you, lil' girl,” he rumbles, dark and smoky in your ear. He doesn't miss the telling flutter of your walls around his length, his lips twisting cruelly. “You'd be cryin’ and beggin' for mercy before I could count to three.”

Despite his backtalk, he drops his hand back between your legs, his fingers seeking out your clit. He keeps the pressure light, far lighter than he knows you like, rubbing leisurely circles around your bud. You whine, high and desperate, squirming in an attempt to chase the pleasure – but you're speared helplessly on his length, and all you manage to do is grind the ridges of his cock even harder into your g-spot. 

“One a’ these days, you’re gonna push just a lil’ too hard, and I’ll make you regret it,” he continues, watching your reflection with dark, all-consuming eyes. “I’ll get my payback for every drop a’ that snark, and I'll take what I want no matter how hard ya fight.”

The laugh that leaves you is faint and strangled, like you're trying to sound haughty, but can't quite manage it with his cock pressed so tight against your cervix. “But not today,” you breathe. 

He smiles, his teeth glinting in the low light, tauntingly close to the tender, bruising skin of your neck. “Don't sound so sure, doll. There's still time.”

“Yeah, but–” you choke, then whine when he increases the pressure on your clit just a bit, his eyes glinting. “You have to… to do whatever I say. That’s the whole point, right?”

He chuckles, deep and rich. “Sure, baby.” Then, he leans in, his lips brushing your ear and his gaze burning into you. “Unless I stuff your mouth full a’ my fingers and pound ya so hard ya can’t get a word out. What do ya think about that?”

Your eyes widen, and he moans unabashedly when your walls shiver around him. You open your shaking lips like you're about to snark him – or, more likely, dig yourself deeper – but he abruptly triples the pressure of his fingers, rolling your nipple with a vengeance just to hear you gasp. 

“Yeah,” he laughs, low and rumbling. “That's what I thought, doll. Just as predictable as always.” Then, he grinds his hips up into you, pressing just a bit harder into you – a promise. You reward him with a ragged moan, your walls squeezing frantically around him. His hand skates upwards from your breast, then settles heavily at the center of your collarbones – a warning. “Now, how ‘bout we get this show on the road, huh? I think I'm done playin' around."

[averycutesalamander]

SAL im so excited for your next fic i can’t stop reading your 31k…. i have feelings for it i fear… im literally so obsessed with your writing style like GOD but yea… waiting patiently.. very excited…. mwah

!!!! thank you !!!!! im so glad you've enjoyed ddbb so much, that means the world to me 💝💝 i have another smut fic on the way soon!! im also making good progress on unpacking from the move so i'll be able to make solid headway in the next few weeks :) hoping to get it out before christmas but idk we'll see !!

p.s. ...a snippet for you ♥ under the cut because it's saucy lol