#skirts up and knickers down

[moonstruckme]

hi lovie!! i was wondering if i could request a poly marauders band au x reader smut (preferably fem, but gn is also fine!!) where james, sirius, and remus are rockstars and they have a gf who is very girly with like the pinks and mini skirts and bows y’know. i literally have no plot, just cute gf and poly marauders band au smut LOL. sorry if this sucks, but i am CRAVING more poly marauders band au fics on here so bad. thank so much if u do write it!! xoxo

Thank you for requesting <3

cw: smut mdni, fingering, praise, some voyerism

rockstar!marauders x coquette!reader ♡ 894 words

There aren’t very many doors that lock backstage. So while a lot of the time dating rockstars means fancy restaurants and first class flights and giant, plush hotel beds, sometimes it means being finger-fucked in a bathroom stall for lack of better options. 

“Angel,” James laughs, nose smushed against your cheek, “you know I love your sounds, but you’re going to have to be quieter than that.” 

You stifle a moan that turns into a whine. You’re honestly not sure how much of the work of keeping you upright is being done by your legs at this point, and how much is being done by James’ fingers buried in your cunt. You’re tugging anxiously on the curls at his nape, your own neck arching as you’re razed from within. 

James always has an excess of energy before shows. Lately, he’s found a new favorite way of working it off. Last week he’d dragged Remus into a storage closet, then last night Sirius had emerged from the boys’ dressing room looking even more rock-and-roll than usual, and tonight James had plied you with kisses until the next thing you knew a stall door was being locked behind you and your panties were being pushed aside under your skirt. 

You suppress a moan as his thick fingers plunge deeper into your cunt, biting down on your bottom lip. Your fingers drive into his shoulders. 

James pushes your cardigan off your shoulder with his free hand, drawing the strap of your tank top down with it. “What do you need this for, hm?” 

“It’s always cold in here,” you manage. His hand finds your breast, squeezing the way he knows how. You push your forehead into his, and James smiles, giving you a conciliatory kiss. 

“Are you cold now?” 

You shake your head against his. He laughs, kissing you again. 

“Good.” You’re sure he’s the only thing keeping you up now, his hand under your skirt and your back propped against the wall. “Least I’m good for something, huh? I can keep my girl warm.” 

You have every intention of telling him he’s good for much more than that, as soon as you can find the words. You hear the bathroom door open before you get the chance. 

You go instantly quiet, covering your mouth with a hand and trying to steady your breathing, but James’ fingers keep moving in and out of you all the same. 

“James?” Remus calls. “You in here?” 

You sag with relief. 

“Yeah,” James says back. “S’it just you?” 

“Why?” Sirius’ voice rings with faux hurt. “Do you not want to see me?” 

“Just making sure.” James reaches over, unlocking your stall. 

“The stage manager’s got his knickers in a twist,” Sirius says as he opens the door. “He thinks you’ve run—oh. Hi, gorgeous.” 

You hide your face in James’ neck. You hear Remus chuckle as James rubs your back, half soothing you and half wrecking you as his fingers spread inside you. You make a stymied keening sound. 

“Do I need to go find him?” James asks. 

“No, probably not.” Sirius’ interest is palpable. You open your eyes to peek over James’ shoulder, and a wicked grin tilts his lips. “He seems like he’s just uptight. Having a good time, babydoll?” 

You imagine it’s a rhetorical question, but James’ fingers work another pleady whimper out of you anyway. Sirius’ eyes light, and Remus comes closer, kissing your bare shoulder. 

“Are you helping Jamie out, lovely girl?” 

“Think it’s the other way around,” you pant. James laughs. 

“No, make no mistake,” Sirius shoots you a wink, “this is one hundred percent selfish of him.” 

“‘nd I appreciate it.” James smears a kiss over your lips. “I would’ve liked to eat her out, but there wasn’t anywhere to put her down.” 

“I am not lying on the bathroom floor,” you say again, just in case he’s getting any ideas. It doesn’t sound very authoritative when your voice wobbles at the end of it, your orgasm looming. 

Remus coos, sensing your ascent. “You’ve got it,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder again. “You look so pretty all worked open like this. Doesn’t she look pretty, Sirius?” 

Sirius hums, giving you an appreciative up-down. “Yeah, you really ought to have known this would happen when you put on that skirt, sweet thing.” 

James grunts his agreement, and then you’re tipping over the edge. Remus helps keep you from slipping down to the bathroom floor as James brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean. 

“There you are, good girl. That felt good, didn’t it, dove? Jamie?” 

“Fuck yeah,” James confirms. When your focus comes back to you, you can see the large, insistent bulge in his pants. 

“Here,” you mumble, reaching for his zipper. You start to drop to your knees, but Remus catches you, urging you back up. 

“I’ve got it, lovely,” he assures you. “So long as you don’t mind. That way Sirius can fix your hair before we have to go out.” 

You frown. “My hair?” You touch the back. It appears you’d lost track of things while you were being driven into the bathroom wall. Your bow is crumpled, your hair tangled around it. “Shit, how bad is it?” 

James offers you a half-sheepish grin. 

“It’s fine, baby.” Sirius takes you by the hand, leading you towards the mirror. “It’s rock and roll.”

[hivemuthur]

i have a request for some ✨emotional, pinning smut✨ for viktor x female!reader based on “Crush” by Cigarettes After Sex

like viktor getting so flustered while watching her try on clothes (“i want to watch you as you’re trying on your clothes, and now you’re all i think about when i’m alone”) and him being just so down bad for the reader

and the sexual tension between them is *palpable*

just some good ol friends to lovers pinning, resolved with some smut

please and thank you, i love your writing 🥺🥺🥺🙏🙏🙏🙏

Hi Anon! I loved this request so much you have no idea!

Skin

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! lots of yearning, poor Viktor :v

author’s note: It's exactly what is says in the request. I listened to a lot of Cigarettes After Sex for this and when it began to annoy me switched to Grimes and remembered she had some good stuff going on in 2012, hence her song Skin will fit this as well if you read with music in the background :) @rennethen beta read!

word count: 2,4K

—

Viktor is trying to figure out a way to sink further into your armchair, have it swallow him whole—legs, arms, fingers, every single strand of his hair—before he disintegrates into a puddle. He had no idea it was going to be this bad when you said, "Can we just rest instead of studying for once?"

Sure, he could rest. He’s tried resting before. What could go so especially wrong? Other than, say, you deciding to organise your wardrobe on a whim while he’s trying to read. And then, when he finally gives up on reading—because it is physically impossible to keep his eyes anywhere but on glimpses of you dressing and undressing, tossing clothes around—another thing that could happen is you parading around in a T-shirt long enough to hide your underwear, but not long enough to hide your legs. And it’s just for a moment, just to change a song or take a sip of your tea, but it’s enough for him to sink so deep into the chair that he can feel the springs digging into his ass.

Or, say, you stepping out of the wardrobe in an appallingly microscopic mini skirt, asking, "Is this too short? Am I too old to wear things this short?"

Yes, it’s too goddamn short.

"Hmm, maybe a little?" he offers, trying so hard to make it look like you’ve just interrupted his reading. The same sentence, for about the fifteenth time—but he really is reading. So, just a glimpse. Just one look at your thighs, where they inevitably end and something else begins, and the skirt is so, so short he can almost—

"A little too short, or I’m a little too old?" you chuckle, and—God forsake you—you turn, and your ass cheeks peek from underneath, and now he knows you’re wearing a pair of white knickers. Just plain old cotton, but what it does to him. There is almost no chair left for him to squeeze himself into.

"Uh… both?" he offers weakly, not really knowing what he is saying, and you shoot him a look of mock offense.

"Forgive me, clothes are far from my areas of expertise," Viktor says, finding his voice—and finding some strength to look away and focus on the sentence he’s been trying to read forever. And the voice he’s found is nowhere near dignified enough for him to look you in the eye. It’s exasperated and breathy in a way that makes you pause for a moment before you shrug and retreat to the wardrobe, and he can breathe again.

"Expertise or not, you must have an opinion on something, Viktor," your chant reaches him as you shuffle between hangers, pulling out the next number to reconsider—a dress this time.

"Must I? I will remind you, I was lured into a trap with the promise of a study date, which somehow turned into a fashion show." Viktor mutters, shifting in the armchair—his stomach muscles actually ache from being flexed the whole time. All the forced breaths, all the cramps in his lower belly, are giving him such a hard time.

"Trapped? Excuse me, are you being physically restrained?" you ask, stepping out, your arms folded on your chest, having no idea that he actually is. Having no idea that his legs wouldn’t work, that if he were to stand up and leave, he’d have to crawl out instead.

"I am," he states bravely. "Weighed down by the sheer gravity of this experience." And you smile, thinking that he jests, but he really doesn’t.

Viktor looks at you in your silly dress, his face burning even hotter, lids heavy from all the warmth pooling inside him. He swallows, and you mistake the struggle for restraint as mockery.

"Oh, sod off," you cackle at the look on his face and step back inside, deciding you’ll keep the dress. "You're free to study if you want, you poor soul."

"Thank you, merciful creature," Viktor grits through his teeth, now carefully studying the letters in that one goddamn sentence he’s been trying to read for the past half hour. He’s never felt less free to do anything.

Finally, he admits defeat and puts the book aside. He takes a sip of his tea—now cold—and thank God for something cold in his mouth, because his tongue is a piece of burning coal. Stretching his legs in front of the chair, he surrenders to this slow, exquisite torture: watching you try on skin after skin, none of them particularly vulgar or filthy, but the sheer thought of you being nearly naked just a wall away makes something writhe inside him. Once in a while, he catches vignettes—an arm, a bra strap, a thigh, a little bit of bum as you lean over to pick something up.

And he would have done something a long time ago, but you are such good friends. It would be a real pity to complicate things. So he bears it—all of it. Every accidental touch, every fleeting glance, and allows himself to wonder sometimes, when your face dusts pink around him, if it's really his doing or just circumstantial evidence. If your pupils dilating at his lousy compliments mean something, or if you simply like to be praised. If you invite him over for his exceptional conversational skills. And if yes, he wonders how disappointed you must be today, as all he’s given you are quiet grunts and chuckles to cover how close he is to being absolutely ruined.

His skin is still burning when you step out again, this time wearing just a long sweater, and even that does something to him. You lean over him to press next on the music player, and Viktor catches a whiff of your scent, forcing his eyes not to roll back. He fails, so keeps them clamped shut.

"Is this also undergoing the purge?" he asks, clutching at straws, desperate to redirect his thoughts to any other thing in the universe but your skin under his fingers.

"I don’t know, you tell me." You pause mid-rise, face suddenly close to his. He blinks slowly, and you make nothing of it. His pupils are blown wide, lips parted, but you make nothing of it—just wait for him to reply.

"You must have an opinion," you press, and it feels like you are pressing on his chest, forcing the answer out of him.

"I like the sweater," Viktor whispers, taking the sleeve hem between his fingers. His skin brushes yours. "I like all of your clothes, actually." A confession finally escapes him, voice barely there as something sparks between the contact. And suddenly, you're no longer talking about clothes.

You glance at his eyelashes—long and dark, boyish and shy as his eyes move between two points: your wrist and his fingers.

"This one… is nice," he swallows, accent cutting his words into whispers. He can’t help it. He indulges—just once—in the light brush of his thumb across your wrist, where the skin is so thin he can feel the stutter of your heartbeat.

And you are aware of what’s happening in your chest. But you feel less embarrassed once you spot the similar rhythm pulsing through the vein on Viktor’s neck. And you tell yourself you are only checking if his heart is beating equally fast to yours, not staring. You tell yourself that while staring at the column of his throat and imagining how your tongue would fit in there. How Viktor would lean his head back and sigh if you pressed your lips to this tiny point where his heart echoed.

With you frozen, hovering over him, Viktor doesn’t exactly indulge further—but his hand moves outside of the jurisdiction of his will, fingers wrapping around your wrist. Once his suspicion is confirmed, though, he moves with intent. His fingers slip beneath the sleeve, caressing your forearm before sliding back down, memorising the shape of your knuckles. Your hands are so cold against his, burning, but it’s not the hottest thing you’ve felt yet.

Gently, carefully, he lifts your hand and holds it close to his mouth, palm facing him. His lips barely press against your wrist, and you exhale, your breath visible in the movement of his hair. Still frozen, you close your eyes as Viktor’s mouth travels up your palm, your nails grazing beneath his ear, goosebumps rising along his neck in response. Your fingertips catch on the plush of his lips before he sucks them into his mouth—his tongue hot, hotter than even his touch, swirling over your index finger. You can feel the edge of his teeth against your skin, and your forehead presses against his as you pathetically moan out his name.

The moment the silence is broken, he stops, and it takes everything in you not to whine. He chuckles out a nervous sound but doesn’t let go of your hand.

You decide you owe him the next move. Slowly—so painfully slowly—you shift in front of him, sinking onto your knees on either side of his thighs, still hovering just above him as you weigh the moment, wondering if shoving your fingers into his mouth was enough of an invitation.

Viktor’s hands answer for him. They slide up your legs, thumbs hooking over your hips to press you down onto him, and he groans at the contact. He squeezes, despite himself, looking drunk on the sensation of your core pressing against his, both of you sinking into the tight embrace of the chair. Your arms wrap around his neck, fingers tangling into his hair, and Viktor gasps, „Oh, God.” His eyes remain closed.

Your fingers on his scalp are almost enough to have him undone, as his hips buck up and you follow his cry with a less dignified, “Oh, fuck,” catching on his lips.

"Please say something," a plea escapes him on an exhale, eyes still hooded, as if opening them could shatter the moment.

Instead, you press your lips to his—a light, hesitant touch at first. Viktor startles, and for a moment, you both just breathe into each other’s mouths. Then, as if something clicks into place in his mind, Viktor moves his tongue. Licks your upper lip, tentative, before his hands slide up your sides—one wrapping around your waist, the other gripping your neck as he pulls you deeper into the kiss.

His mouth claims yours, firm, almost bruising, and he catches up on breathing through his nose. Thumb stretches out your cheek and when you part, it’s only for an inch. He finally looks at you and you whisper, “Something.”

Faces close to each other, foreheads touching, you wordlessly reach for his belt and Viktor’s eyes follow the movement of your fingers. You tug on his pants to slide them down his hips and take in the vision of his cock, outlined in his boxer briefs, throbbing and leaking, a patch of wet cotton sticking to the head.

He grabs your hips, slides them over himself and you both moan as your wet underwear meets his. Hands everywhere on you, under your sweater, on your ass, as if Viktor can’t decide where he wants to touch you the most. His lips find your neck and your spine arches, your cunt pressing firmer on his cock. You feel his breath coming in hot pants with each movement, his tongue swiping along your neck, lips sucking hickeys into your skin.

He tugs at your jumper and with no words said, you lift your arms to help him rid you of it and do the same with his layers, baring his chest. You kiss his clavicle, and Viktor can’t help but whimper at the feeling of your hot mouth against him.

His fingers hover over your back, a silent question about your bra but before you can nod or say anything, you undo it with one flick and Viktor’s lips are on you immediately. On your breasts, on your nipples, just frantically licking and nipping before his tongue travels back up, tracing a slick line through your sternum, your neck, chin and lands back in your mouth.

He pushes you closer to him, your chests meet, and you sigh at the feeling of his heartbeat next to yours. You kiss him and between kisses Viktor breathes, “God, you are so wet.”

“You are so wet too,” you reply, and he chuckles. You rub against each other, your hips rolling on top of his and he hides his face in your neck, forcing himself not to come before you. You wrap your arms back around him, mouth hanging open against his forehead, his hair tickling your face. One, two more rolls of your hips, two more rubs against his clothed cock and you come twitching, pressing his face into your throat, with a force that could snap his neck, and he both feels the moan vibrating in your larynx and hears it ringing in his ears.

Not letting you go, he ruts into you, sliding his cock between your sore, swollen lips, soon to join you with your name falling from his mouth in a quiet broken whimper, muffled with a bite on your neck and you can feel the wetness spreading between your legs, hot and sticky as your underwear merges into one mess of cum. You both breathe heavily, stay embraced before looking at each other.

When Viktor shivers beneath you, you suddenly remember that you might be crushing him and wince, asking “Am I hurting your leg?”

“No, God, no,” he mutters into the pool between your collar bones and his breath is still so warm. His palm is splayed on the nape of your neck, heavy and firm, other encircles your waist. You comb his hair away from his forehead and look at him firmly. “So… fashions shows. Not so bad in the end, huh?”

He cackles, caught off guard. “Not so bad, no,” he muses, looking you deep in the eyes. Spent, happy, cheeks pink and hair tussled, he looks so pretty it takes everything in you to not smooch him in another kiss. “I might want to frequent those more often,” he says bashfully, and you smile.

“Oh, there is a lot to be seen. I haven’t even begun with the underwear drawer,” you whisper against his lips and kiss him softly and to Viktor it’s abundantly clear, that he will have to crawl out of here were he ever going to leave.

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to the Fashion of 1940s

The 1940s was a time for great change in the world and in fashion. Marked by rationing and shortage of fabrics, the silhouette and availability of different cuts was limited so the women of the era turned to more fitted, shorter cuts.

Undergarments

The undergarments of the era were not as restrictive or complicated in WW2 as they were pre-WW1, but there were a lot of moving parts to the set-up.

Bra/Brassiere: Bras got shorter in the 1940s due to the rationing of fabric. They look much like they do today, made of light coloured fabrics and hooked with metal eyelets.

Panties/Knickers: The underwear. Elasticated underwear was around and actually exempt from rationing.

Girdle: The girdle rests on the lower torso, past the hips and were used for shaping as well as support.

Garters: Were worn at the top of the stocking just above the knee to hold the stocking in place.

Garter Belt: Was a belt worn around the waist and used to hold up the stockings and garters thanks to fastenings.

Slip: A slip is a light loose dress that is worn under another dress. It is long or short depending on the size of the dress you're wearing over it. The slip has slim straps and was usually plain though lace and embroidery were no uncommon. Most younger women favoured the half slip which was like another skirt.

Stockings: Stockings were worn over the lower legs, clipped and held in place by the garters. If your lady is lucky enough to have a friend on the black market, she might be lucky enough to have proper nylon tights. But if not, some ladies in this period dyed their legs with tea bags and drew the seam up the back of their legs to give the effect.

Outfits

Most women still wore skirts and dresses in the 1940s though some women switched to pants. Most of the outfits of the time followed a similar silhouette due to rationing: it was simple, unsophosticated, fitted, belted and hems remained just below the knee. A suit jacket and skirt combo was popular. Blouses and jumpers were also worn. Dresses were worn as well. Women would pair their outfit with accessories. They would always wear a hat outside and gloves.

Shoes

Shoes were effected by the war, with leather and rubber being limited. Most were brown, black or two two-tone shoes were popular. Oxford shoes, saddle shoes, loafers, court shoes, slingback were popular. These could be lace ups or have fastenings. Heels were usual, but rather short and stocky if worn in the day time. Most would be plain but some would have embellishments.

The Reality of the 1940s

With war on and rationing well underway, the question of clothes was always on the mind. Most women did not have a large wardrobe and with clothing coupons little help, most women made and made due. Hems would be let down, larger sizes cut down and a lot of clothing reused. Fabric choice was limited, silk and nylon were used for parachutes and military applications. Clothing rations were the only way to get new clothes in the war. The average person was entitled at first to 66 clothing coupons per year. But that only would buy an outfit of clothes not including the necessaries. And the number of ration coupons went down as the war went on, down to 36 coupons in 1945. It was illegal to transfer coupons but even despite this, in 1947 hundreds of women offered the future Queen Elizabeth II their rations for her wedding dress. The offer was declined but the government had to approve the release of extra coupons to the Princess. Women also turned to alternatives to create clothes especially wedding gowns even made them out of parachutes!

Make up and Hair

Make up and perfume was one of the many things that was rationed due to their chemical components such as glycerine. Women could access make up but due to rationing and many make up companies not having the ingredients or changing to more profitable and patriotic output, supplies were low. Women often turned to DIY, burnt cork for mascara and eyeliner, natural stains such as beetroot or cochineal for lipstick, crushed rose petals for blush, soot/charcoal for eyeliner, facemasks of egg white or oatmeal, beeswax for moisturiser and cold cream. As for hair women often turned to DIY to care and wash for their hair. Homemade shampoos were made from soap, vinegar and baking soda. Egg yolks were used for conditioner. Lemon juice was used to lighten hair. Olive oil was used to make hair shiny. Some popular hairstyles of the era:

Victory Rolls: This is the hairstyle you're probably thinking ofwhen you think of the 40s. It involves rolling the hair away from the face and rolling them at the top of the head.

Pin Curls: This is a hairstyle involving the curling and pinning of hair overnight got tight curls for the next day.

Pageboy: This is a shoulder-length style, curled at the ends

Waves: This style involves soft waves

Pompadours: The hairstyle involves the sweeping up of hair back from the face and sculpting it to be more voluminous.

Snoods: This is a sort of net worn over the hair, usually with a rat (a sort of device used to increase volume at the front of the hair)

Scarves: Were popular replacement for hats, used to cover their hair when going out.

[thewrldx]

Caught — S.S

Pic credits to @dvinaamesca for this beautiful picture I absolutely had to use.

Synopsis: Sebastian Sallow is a bit of an exhibitionist. That cocky, smirking, troublemaking Slytherin boy lives for risk. It’s reckless, which is why it’s so appealing. The thrill—the possibility of getting caught—gives this man tunnel vision. Here is that happening.

Sebastian Sallow x Female reader

WC: Unknown literally typed this up on my lunch break :0

18+, aged up characters, exhibitionist kink, unprotected sex, slight choking, unedited, no lore—just smut for you filthy little things. (me)

MINORS DNI!!!

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The Undercroft is dimly lit, the fire crackles from the chandeliers hanging in the four corners of the room. The stone walls are ricocheting the hiss of your breath and the sopping sounds of sex.

Your forehead is pressed to the cold stone pillar, partially naked with your skirt bunched up at your waist—knickers swiped aside. Sebastian’s chest is flush with your back, his trousers pulled down just enough.

His cock is buried so deep as his hips grind into you, forcing you to take every single inch. One hand has snaked under your tight uniformed vest, kneading your breast, the other hand low—pressing and rubbing lazy circles on your clit.

Your head falls back on his shoulders as he hits a particularly spongy spot deep inside, a sweet lewd noise tearing from your throat, eyes snapping shut.

“You like that, sweetheart?” He pants against your ear.

Gods, do you.

You’re so fucking full, walls stretched around every inch of him. You can only whimper in reply.

This makes Sebastian grind faster.

His hips begin to piston quickly, snapping flush into yours. Your thighs are slick and shaking vigorously from standing slightly bent for so long—and obviously from how good he is fucking you. The obscene sounds are like a symphony to Sebastian’s ears.

Then—the gate creaks open.

Your eyes pop open wide and his hand groping your tit moves, squeezing your nipple once before clamping it over your mouth. He stills, momentarily, cock still throbbing inside of you.

“Sebastian?” Ominis’ calm voice cuts through the air, footsteps echoing on the floor. “Are you in here?”

Sebastian devilishly grins, his brown eyes dark and hungry.

“Fuckin’ hell it’s just Ominis,” he breathes, unbothered, before jerking his hips from his standstill, hard. You squeal into his hand. He nips your neck. “Shh, don’t want him hearin’ how pretty you sound stuffed full, do we?”

You can’t think straight, especially not when he keeps fucking you with Ominis in the room.

The footsteps draw closer and Sebastian continue to roll into you, deliberately slow.

“Sebastian?” Ominis calls again, voice now high and suspicious.

Wicked and rough, he whispers in your ear, his breath tickling your skin. “He can’t see us, but he can bloody well hear how wet you are for me.”

To prove his point, he gives a particularly deep thrust; slamming into your heat, coaxing a squelching sound from your cunt and forcing you to choke on a moan. Your walls squeeze him beautifully—revealing to Sebastian that you like this.

Oh sweet hell, that could make him spill right now. The way you clench around him, body betraying how much you like the act of being caught. How dirty you are for him.

He continues to fuck into you slowly, deep, ignoring how Ominis’ steps have since stilled. Blind, but not oblivious. The slap of skin from his next sharp rut echoes in the Undercroft, and your eyes roll back, moans muffled weakly by his palm. His fingers are still working your sensitive bundle of nerves and it’s driving you even closer to the edge.

Sebastian’s hand moves from your mouth to your throat, gripping possessively. “Stay still.” He commands, his tone a mere growl. He’s changed his mind about keeping you quiet, the idea of someone knowing exactly what he was doing to you made every blood cell in his body flow directly to his length. Plus, you make such gorgeous noises for him.

“Let him hear how much you love my cock, hm?”

Cocky bastard knows his best mate’s sharp hearing is catching everything.

He gives another harsh thrust, your body pressing into the pillar. Gasps and shudders leave your lips with nothing to break them, though you are desperately trying to suppress them. You turn your head to the left then, catching Ominis who is standing in utter shock—cheeks as red as the Gryffindor banner.

His breath hitches at the horrific realization. That he is standing right in view of Sebastian ruining you.

“Gods dammit, Sebastian…” He murmurs under his breath before turning sharply, bolting out. His boots are quick and sharp on the floor as he retreats.

As soon as the gate shudders close, Sebastian growls, moving his hands from your throat and clit to yank back your hips, slamming into you brutally.

“Fuckin’ hell he heard everything.” He practically beams. His cock is twitching at how fucking hot that whole scene just was. “You loved that, didn’t you? Filthy girl, squeezing me that tight when he was right there.”

No more slow grinding, he fucks into you hard, just like before the interruption—if not more violently now. You moan helplessly, no point in try to defend how much you did enjoy it, not when you are this wet and this fucking close.

“Oh fuck—Seb.” You choke out, walls fluttering then squeezing him like a vice as the scale finally tips. Legs shaking as an intense wave of euphoria washes through your body, radiating from your core.

His pace breaks, sloppy and desperate now. His hips smack once—twice, before he buries himself to the hilt, groaning ragged as he fills you. Hot thick ropes paint your walls white, his hands bruising your hips as he rides it out with shallow thrusts.

“Shit—“ He moans, a deep, throaty sound. “So good for me darling.”

He collapses against you, stabilizing you both as best he can on that damn pillar. He lets out an exhale that’s more of laugh, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder.

“Reckon we let him stay next time?”

[imaginingmanyfandoms]

I'll take you there - jamie tartt x reader

summary - jamie forgets something very important, and feels very, very bad about it

warnings; angsty but resolved, illusions to smut & lots of cursing

"Keeley, you gotta help me," Jamie said, walking into Rebecca's office without knocking, where both her and Rebecca pause, watching Jamie flop onto the couch dramatically. The girls look at each other and say nothing, but Jamie doesn't even notice as he starts going off about what's on his mind.

"So I tell her not to make any plans for the weekend, right? 'Cos we got the weekend off and I wanna spend a full day in bed with my pretty girl, doing... well... her, and I got home on Friday and she's all dolled up and lookin' fuckin' stunning, and I try to get my hands on 'er and she asks what I had planned." Jamie's waving his hands around, and Keeley's silent, fingers still frozen over her keyboard, watching with wide eyes.

"And then she gets all pissy when I said I wanted to get my hands up 'er skirt. She usually likes my boyish charms, what if she doesn't like me boyish charms anymore Keeley? It's all I got!" He rubs his hands down his cheeks. "And now she's mad at me, waste of a weekend off really, she didn't want to even talk to me let alone let me..." Jamie catches the shocked looks on both of their faces, both with similar faces of furrowed brows and scrunched up noses. "Why are you looking at me like that? That's how she was lookin' at me."

"Well," Keeley said, turning to Rebecca, "not the story I thought we were gunna get when he came in here, I'll admit."

"Me either."

"Well, what did you think I was gunna say?"

"Well, I don't know. Thought maybe you'd have planned something romantic." Keeley shrugs like it's obvious, "not just try and take her knickers off before dinner."

"That's what she said too! Roy said maybe I did something wrong, but I told her not to make any plans! I said I wanted to be lazy for once, and now suddenly I'm the bad guy."

"Well, what did you do?" Rebecca asked.

"Nothing, I didn't do anything wrong."

"No, not what did you do wrong Jamie, what did you do for her birthday?" Keeley clarified.

Jamie stares at both of them for a long, dopey moment. His face drops, he has nothing to say. His eyebrows scrunch up. "What?"

"Uh, her birthday? Friday?" Keeley said.

"Well, we figured out the problem, then."

Jamie continues staring at them, his face turning into a look of horror. "I'm sorry," he said, smiling without humour and waving his arms around it front of him like trying to ward something evil off. "Couldn't have heard you right, sounded like you said her birthday was Friday."

"Uh, babe, her birthday was on Friday," Keeley frowns, thinking about you all dolled up and Jamie not even saying happy birthday. "And you told her not to make plans, so she didn't even throw herself a little party or anything."

Jamie rubbed his eyes, as if he was having a nightmare and this would all go away. Maybe he was in shock. This kind of felt like shock, like he'd floated out of his body and was watching himself crash and burn.

"Oh," he mumbled, "oh so I did do something wrong..."

"Jamie, babe, you've gone pale, are you all right?" Keeley wanted to be mad at him for you, but he looked like he was going to pass out.

"Oh, I'm gunna be sick." Jamie falls back against the couch, head lulling against the back, slinging his arm over his eyes dramatically, "rooms fuckin' spinnin'."

"Do not throw up on my carpet," Rebecca warned. "Or I'll tell Beard what you've done and he may have you killed."

"Rebecca," Keeley warned, "look at him, he's troubled. Looks kind of pathetic really, like a puppy on the side of the road."

"Why did no one tell me!?" he whines, "Oh god, I'm toast. She's gunna hate me forever."

"I didn't forget," Rebecca said, "I sent her a couple of flight vouchers for a little vacation somewhere. I bet she's halfway to Greece by now, you know I always thought she deserved better."

"What!?" Jamie shouts, and he's on his feet. "You think she's left me?" Rebecca just shrugs. "I have to go, I gotta go stop her, oh my god! Oh my god!"

And Jamie's off, running out of the office, tripping just outside the door followed by him whining, getting up and running off again. Keeley watched silently, while Rebecca laughed.

"That was mean, Rebecca."

"Oh come on, like watching him fall over wasn't a little bit funny."

"I didn't say it wasn't funny, I just said it was mean."

"Not as mean as forgetting his girlfriend's birthday."

"All right, you win."

Jamie's fumbling to get his keys out of his locker, but he can't find them anywhere. He checks all his pockets twice, digs around in his bag, but they're just nowhere to be found. Jamie hits his hand against his number above his cubby.

"Where's the fuckin' fire?" Roy asks, crossing his arms.

"I have go to stop me bird from running to Greece and leaving me," Jamie said, checking his coat pockets again like maybe this time would make the keys appear. "I'm fuckin' done for mate, she's gone. I've missed the plane."

"Okay..." Roy uncrosses his arms and scrunches his eyebrows up. "Twenty minutes ago you were sure you'd done nothing wrong."

"It was her birthday..." Jamie mumbled, barely glancing at Roy out the corner of his eye. "on Friday."

Roy's mouth forms a little 'o' shape, followed by him pinching back a snicker that he couldn't stop.

"It's not fucking funny!"

"It's not funny," Roy repeats, "poor girl, probably wanted a romantic evening and she's left with a twat tryna stick his hands up her clothes with no happy birthday or nothin'..."

Jamie hits his head on his locker mumbling something profane under his breath, but doesn't fight back.

"What am I gunna do?"

"Personally I'd start with sorry but," Roy held his hands up, "but what the fuck do I know?"

"Do you think she's gone to Greece?"

"Why the fuck do you keep going on about Greece? You know what, I don't care, don't answer that. Now get out of here and tell her you're an idiot and beg on your knees for her forgiveness."

"C'mon grandpa, help me out, what do I say?"

"I'll help you out by letting you leave training and by not telling Beard what you've done, far as I'm concerned that's already two favours." Roy laughs again, "ou, Beard's gunna kill you."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" Jamie is still leaned against the locker, back arched like a noodle.

"Because she's the sweetest thing, and you're a prick."

"Yeah, all right, that's true."

When Jamie finally gets home, he's relieved that your shoes are still there by the door, which means you probably haven't left him.

Although, being in the house he's acutely aware of how dangerous the situation is. He fucked up so badly and now he has to fix it before you realize you deserve someone more thoughtful, attentive.

Fuck that, he could be thoughtful and attentive. And he would be, he'd get better at it. He never wanted to hurt you like this again, he should've flown you somewhere (not Greece) even just for the weekend. He should've had a tower of presents waiting for you, he should've brought you dancing, fuck, he should've said happy fucking birthday.

It's nearly noon, and he finds you still tucked into bed, not sleeping but not up either. He doesn't know what to say, he's never been good with words. So he just climbs into bed with you, slowly shifting over to your side of the bed, where he can wrap an arm around your waist and pull you tight against him.

He sighs into your hair, the smell of your shampoo giving him comfort he doesn't deserve.

"I'm so sorry, love," he whispers, "you deserved better on your birthday, and I fucked it up so badly."

You don't say anything, just roll around to face him, noses bumping against each other. You look over his face, his sad, pouty little face, and it's hard to stay mad at him, but he hurt you. He let you down.

"Happy Birthday, my love."

"I spent it all by myself," you whisper back, unable to stop yourself from tearing up, and it cracks Jamie's heart right down the middle, severing it perfectly into halves.

"I'm sorry, baby," he says, pulling you closer as you cry into his shoulder. "There's no excuses, I've never been really good at the romantic side of things, you know? But I try with you, harder than I've ever tried, and I messed this one up but next year, oh you're not ready for how good your birthday is gunna be next year, I won't be doing this ever again, I promise. And I'm going to throw you something extra good next weekend, a big party with all of our friends, yeah? And then we'll take a holiday, anywhere you want to go in the whole world." Jamie thinks for a second. "But not Greece."

You laugh for a second, "why not Greece?"

"Because you were gunna leave me and go to Greece, Bosslady said so."

You decide not to question it. "I've always wanted to go to Vienna."

"Then I'll take you there."

"But I don't want you to think you can just take me somewhere and I'm going to just forget how badly it hurt to be forgotten."

"I don't think that, love, I don't. If you could see the inside of me mind you'd know how sorry I am. Hurting you is the worst thing I can do and I did it, I'm not trying to buy your forgiveness, I want to take you on a holiday because you deserve a boyfriend who plans something well romantic for your birthday, and I would prefer if that boyfriend was me."

You snuggled closer into him, "imagine how bad you're gunna feel when I give you the best birthday ever and you'd forgotten mine."

He groaned, wrapping his arms even tighter around you. "You're killin' me, love." He kisses your forehead three times fast. "Baby, I really am so sorry."

"I know you are Jamie," you said, "can we get cake and watch a movie?"

"Oh my God! You didn't even get a cake," he whines, threading his fingers into your hair and pulling you into a tight hug, smooshing your face against his chest. "Tell me what kind you want and I'll go get you a cake, any cake." Jamie sighs, "Here's what we're going to do, you are gunna lay here while I set up a nice bath for you, then you are gunna relax and soak in there while I run to the store and then we are gunna make a pillow fort in the living room and have the worlds coziest movie night, okay?"

"That sounds perfect, baby."

"Why didn't we do this last weekend?" Beard asked, sitting next to Ted at the bar, late birthday party in full swing at a pub Jamie rented out. Jamie had taken it all very seriously, decorated it, bought a second, huge birthday cake, and invited everyone from the team and all your friends. "Birthday was like over a week ago now, he do somethin' special for lil Princess?"

"Oh no, this is an 'I'm sorry' birthday party, Rebecca told me he forgot and now he's making it up to her, now he's even got a whole romantic trip to Vienna planned and everything," Ted says.

"He what!?"

"Ohhhh boy, I sure didn't think about that one," Ted says, looking into his cup like something entertaining was happening in there.

"He's running laps til his feet bleed," Beard says, gripping his beer so tightly Ted thinks it might burst in his hand.

"Oh what's that? I think I just heard Roy call me over, maybe he needs... I'm gunna go over there."

When Ted scurries away, Beard keeps white knuckling his drink, talking to know one when he says, "I might break that boy's leg."

[smutmind]

Good Thing ft. Minnie

Idle X BWC The corridor smelled like stone, old spellwork, and burnt candle ends.

Minnie walked slow, steady, like she wasn’t the newest person on the grounds. Her boots clicked against the floor with a quiet rhythm. She had on an oversized maroon sweater that hung past her hips, loose in the sleeves, collar slouched wide on one side. Beneath it, a slim navy tie peeked from her neck, knotted messily like she hadn’t cared to fix it. And that skirt—ultra short, dark, tight. It clung to her like it had been poured on, showing more thigh than most students would dare.

“You’re a bit off route,” someone said behind her.

She turned.

The guy stood relaxed against the far wall, all black robes and sharp posture. Tall. Hair pulled back. Accent crisp. He looked like the kind of man who gave orders that stuck.

“Didn’t realize there were signs,” she said.

He stepped away from the wall, slow. “This hallway isn’t open to fresh entries. Combat wing. You don’t look like someone cleared for fireplay.”

“Was just walking,” she said, not bothering to stop. “I’ll turn around.”

“You walked straight through two barriers. Either by accident, or on purpose. Both are a problem.”

Minnie met his stare. “So tell me which one offends you more—me being lost, or me not looking scared.”

That earned her a blink. Then, a slow step closer.

“Name?”

“Minnie.”

“Nullborn, twenty-seven. New blood.”

She raised a brow. “You got flashcards on everyone or just the ones with nice legs?”

His eyes flicked down, sharp and fast. “You’re in uniform. Technically.”

“I wore the tie,” she said, shrugging. “That counts.”

He laughed—low, short, not amused. “You think attitude’s enough to keep you from getting burned?”

“I think people like you hide behind rules when they don’t know what to do with someone who doesn’t follow them.”

He stopped right in front of her, looking down. “You’ve got a mouth on you.”

“You’ve got hands that haven’t moved,” she said. “Guess we’re both holding back.”

His expression didn’t change, but something shifted in the air. Heat, low and sudden. His palm landed on her hip, firm, pushing her gently back against the stone wall. His thigh slid between hers, snug under that short skirt.

“You sure?” he asked.

Minnie looked up at him, dead calm. “Yeah. I’ve been sure since I saw you.”

“You don’t know what you’re starting.”

“Then stop talking and show me.”

Corwin leaned in, his breath warm against her ear, voice a quiet growl. “Once I start, you don’t get to play the innocent new girl.”

Minnie’s hand slid up his chest, fingers curling into his collar. “Who said I was playing?”

Minnie’s back hit the stone with a dull thud, but she didn’t flinch. Corwin pressed in close, one hand at her hip, the other resting flat beside her head, caging her in.

“Say it again,” he said, voice low, accent crisp.

Her fingers slipped under his robe, brushing over his waist. “I said stop talking and show me.”

Corwin’s eyes darkened. “You lot—always so blunt.”

“You lot?” she echoed, smirking. “What, you mean Americans? Or Thai girls who don’t wait to be invited?”

He blinked, then gave a short laugh. “You don’t waste time, do you?”

“I was raised around women who ran households, cooked with fire, and swore like sailors. So no. I don’t.”

Corwin slid his hand down to her thigh, lifting it slowly until her knee hit his hip. Her skirt rode up easy—barely there to begin with. He pushed the fabric higher, felt warm skin underneath.

“No knickers?” he asked, voice thickening.

She bit her lip, eyes bright. “Didn’t think I’d need ‘em.”

His hand slipped under the hem of her sweater, palm skating up her bare waist. She was soft, warm, and already arching toward him. Her tie dangled crooked against her chest, still half-tucked under the oversized knit.

“You’re unbelievable,” he murmured.

She leaned in, her mouth brushing his. “No one’s ever said that before with that accent. Say it again.”

He kissed her—fast and hard. No pretense. No hesitation. She kissed back just as fierce, fingers gripping the back of his neck, pulling him deeper. His tongue found hers, and she moaned into his mouth.

When he pulled back, they were both breathing hard. Her lipstick had smudged at the edges. He liked that.

“I don’t shag students,” he said roughly.

“I’m not one yet,” she shot back, sliding her hand between them, palm pressing against the front of his trousers. “So technically, you’re in the clear.”

Corwin hissed through his teeth. “Fuck’s sake, Minnie—”

“I want to feel magic,” she whispered, dragging his cock free, thick and flushed in her hand. “And I want to feel you. No robes. No distance. Just heat.”

He spun her gently, pushing her chest-first against the wall now. Her sweater bunched up. Her skirt lifted high. She arched her back, bracing with one hand, looking over her shoulder with a wicked little smile.

“You better not be all talk, British boy.”

“Careful,” he muttered, lining himself up. “We’re very good at delivering.”

He slid into her with one long, slick stroke.

Minnie gasped, hand slamming flat to the stone. “Fucking hell—”

“You feel that?” he growled, gripping her hips. “That’s real magic.”

She was already soaked, already clenching around him, the stretch perfect and raw. He started slow, deep, watching her ass bounce with every thrust, her sweater riding up more with each roll of his hips.

“God, you’re thick,” she moaned. “It’s like—fuck—you’re in my ribs.”

He laughed against her shoulder. “I told you we don’t go gentle.”

She shoved back against him, greedy. “Good. I don’t want gentle.”

The rhythm turned filthy, fast. Her moans filled the corridor. Her skirt was up around her waist. His fingers dug into her sides, bruising and precise. Sweat dampened her back where it met his chest.

When he reached around to rub her, she cried out—short, sharp.

“You’re close,” he said.

“Don’t stop—don’t you fucking—”

She broke then, shaking against the wall, her thighs clamping, cunt squeezing around him like a vice.

Corwin didn’t let go yet. He held her there, panting, body still pulsing inside her.

She looked back, grinning like a storm. “Come on, Corwin. Show me how Brits finish.”

He cursed, pulled out, and spilled hot across her ass with a shuddering breath.

They stood there for a second. Breathing. Sweating. Her skirt still bunched. His cock still twitching.

Minnie turned, dropped to her knees without a word, the glow of the corridor’s runes casting soft gold across her flushed face. She wrapped her hand around him—slick, thick, still heavy—and leaned in like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He tensed as her tongue dragged slowly up the length, catching the last of his release. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she cut in, her American accent thick with heat. “Don’t be shy. Not with a wand like this.”

She took him into her mouth, slow and filthy, letting him feel it—all of it. Her lips slid down, her cheeks hollowing, tongue twisting around the head like she was studying a spell up close.

Corwin groaned, hand braced on the wall. “Fuck… Minnie—”

She moaned around him, then pulled back just enough to speak. “You’re seriously walking around Hogwarts with a bloody beast like this between your legs?”

He laughed, wrecked. “It’s not in the curriculum.”

“Well, it should be,” she muttered, licking along the shaft. “Big Wand Charms. Advanced handling.”

She sucked him clean—thorough, wet, tongue pressing just under the head, making him twitch with oversensitivity. When she finally pulled off, lips shining, she looked up and grinned.

“All tidy,” she said, smoothing her skirt back down like nothing had happened.

Corwin dragged a hand through his hair. “You’re bloody dangerous.”

She adjusted her crooked navy tie, still on her knees. “You’ve got no idea.”

[kabr0ztrousers]

I love your writing, it’s insanely hot and especially well spaced <3

I was reading one of your portal fics earlier, and I was wondering if you’d write something about how f!reader gets some anal training for her new job as a portal hole - bonus points if it’s by a hot, older female executive from the company that operates the portals.

Kabr0z Writes Episode 142: Creadle & Crabnuts Industries

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

Ao3!

CWs: portals; knotting; implied feral; public sex; oral sex; exhibition; dubcon; physical discomfort;

A/N: More portals! I managed my time a little better today, so I hope you folks enjoy it!

###########################################

You shouldn’t complain. You really shouldn’t. Getting a job at all in this economy was enough of a nightmare, and from the contents of the manilla envelope you’d been sent, this was a pretty well paid one. There was only really one problem with it.

Nobody’s told you what the hell you’re actually going to be doing. You'd been given an interview, if you could call it that, but all that happened there was a portal opened in your lucky undies and you got thoroughly fucked by... Well, you're not sure what it was, but it was something. What it certainly wasn't was any kind of interview you'd had before. This time, you made sure to wear different pants on the train. Sure, your lucky undies were actually proving lucky, but you could do without getting fucked in public again, at least off the clock. Who knows? That could be what the job is.

The office, such as it was, was a squat warehouse a couple of miles out of London. The door opened for you and you stepped in, a middle-aged woman in a grey suit waiting for you. She looked you up and down, motioning for you to turn around.

You did so, feeling her gaze on you. You wore heels and a knee-length skirt, along with some underwear you didn't mind losing or getting ruined. You had a feeling you weren't going to need them in a few minutes, the room already smelled of sex and you weren't twenty paces into the building.

She tapped a clipboard thoughtfully "Marvellous, we definitely chose the right subject. My notes indicate you received the Mk. 1 device, then after it had activated for the first time, you kept it. Even planned on wearing it to a job interview? Excellent. Come with me"

She never left you space to answer, and she sure wasn't listening now as she stepped down the hallway, still speaking "You'll be assigned to product testing, same sort of thing as you've already been doing with the Mk. 1, but with a little more scientific rigour, and a little less public transportation. Of course, what you get up to off the clock is your decision and we do encourage... Extracurricular activities. Today, we want to try something a little different." She stopped next to a door "In there is a device much like the one you're familiar with, plus a couple of tweaks. We want you to take them, put them on, then do... Whatever, really. Get yourself a coffee or something. We'll be monitoring you remotely."

You stepped into the room, an envelope sat on a table. You opened it, and withdrew a pair of pink, frilly knickers. They were light, soft, stretchy, precisely what you want out of underwear. Though how the woman had described them, you knew what they really were. You slipped off the knickers you'd come in wearing, putting them in your bag before pulling on the suspicious pair from the envelope. All the while, feeling the gaze of the woman who you presumed was your new boss. You turned to her as she took out a tablet and tapped it

"Good, telemetry is coming through. Enjoy your morning. You'll know when the test starts. Come back when it's done, and we can debrief"

She escorted you from the building, waving you off as you stepped back into the morning sun.

What the hell was that? You shrugged. You probably don't want to go out of walking distance to the... Let's say offices. You checked your phone. A café? Maybe. Should be relatively quiet round this time of morning, and in the worst case, they'll have a bathroom you can hide in. You nodded to yourself and set off.

You were right. The café was pretty empty, just a few bored-looking baristas wiping down various machines after the morning rush, sweeping up discarded pieces of sugar packet wrapper. You got your order, a medium Americano and sat down near the bathrooms.

She wasn't lying. You knew when the test started. A familiar warmth spread over the fabric under your skirt. It dissipated as always, but you could tell you were exposed, vulnerable.

Who- or what-ever it was on the other side of the portal clearly didn't believe in pacing themselves. A wide, flat tongue started lapping at you. It was manic. So fast it made you yelp, taking long licks of the outside of your nethers. You felt it skimming the outer lips, hitting your clit on every long stroke, just to do it again a moment later. You bit your lip, legs crossing on their own. That didn't impede the tongue, it might have even encouraged it. You could feel your breath coming in rags. The baristas were doing their best to ignore you, but in an otherwise empty café it was tough. You could feel their gaze as you screwed your eyes shut, the taste of your own blood filling your mouth as you but down harder. You tried not to cry out as you came. A whine still escaped.

The tongue pulled away. Your cunt was still twitching, your pulse throbbing in your engorged clit. A warmth spread across your ass. Just for a moment. Then it was gone. You could feel a draft across your asscheeks. You were being pressed through the portal by your own weight, just a little. Just enough that you could feel the rim of the portal on your ass cheeks as your exposed behind was being transmitted to who knows where.

You sat in anticipation, still tender and sensitive from the oral servicing you'd just received. You didn't have to wait long. Movement came on both of your holes. Something slimy on your asshole, something using your natural lubricant at your cunt. They thrust rapidly, randomly, hoping to find a hole to take them as they spread hot, spurting fluids over you. You abandoned hope of being able to finish the coffee in front of you, every thrust shaking your hands a little, every near-miss making you gasp.

Your ass was first. The cock hammered its way in, jerking and thrusting, no slower now than it was before only now it was inside you. You tried to mask the yelp as it penetrated with a cough, but the looks on the staff's faces didn't look convinced. It was relentless, the thrusts seemingly gaining in power and ferocity as they went on. You bit down hard on your lip, digging your nails into your palms.

You couldn't help yourself when the other cock found its mark. A basal, creaking groan escaped you as your drooling, deprived cunt swallowed the cock whole, welcoming it in. The whole length of it pumped in and out, rubbing against the one in your ass. You couldn't stop yourself shaking. You staggered to your feet, trying to stumble out of the café before you were thrown out. Your legs wobbled, unsteady with the twin cocks using you as they pleased. Setting one in front of the other was tough, hauling yourself along towards the door required a herculean effort to not trip over yourself.

The bell rang above the door as you opened it, guiding yourself around the side of the building before leaning against the wall.

Just in time. You felt a bulbous knot press into your asshole. You cried out in pain as it stretched you open, forcing its way in before you tightened behind it. The cock in your cunt did similar, driving in a thick, rock-hard growth, locking itself inside before it started to spill its seed.

You felt them filling you. Thick, hot cum painting your insides, sticking to you, washing into you. You could almost smell it, musky and tangy, pulsing into you from both directions at once. You slid down the wall, head back, eyes staring at the blue sky above, hands laying limp by your sides.

You don't know how long it was before they pulled out, but the blue sky had turned to grey and the first drops of rain were landing on you. The knots plopped out, the portals disengaging, and cum oozing from your gaping, winking holes.

You couldn't move. Sure you were expected back soon, but you figured a few more minutes wouldn't hurt.

[whimsicalpolitical]

i feel like you would write such a good moment of matty treating y/n like she’s dumb but in that condescending teasing way where he’s almost amused ya know? like mockingly pouting back at her when she whines 🤭🤭

thanks so much! 18+ mdni, thigh riding because i loveee

it started at dinner.

you knew you were fucked the second he stepped out of the bedroom. his hair still damp from the shower, a cigarette pinched between his teeth, fitted black trousers and a soft blue polo that clung in all the right places. he hadn’t even done the top button. just left it loose like he didn’t know what that would do to you.

he looked dangerous. smug and golden under the restaurant lights, rings catching on his glass of wine, eyes flicking to yours every time you shifted in your seat. his hand was on your thigh almost as soon as you sat down, warm and heavy under the tablecloth, sliding higher every time you spoke. he had the whole night to watch you squirm.

“you need to behave,” he murmured at one point, voice low enough that only you could hear it, thumb pressing just inside your inner thigh.

your legs were shaking and your panties were embarrassingly soaked and you’d stopped listening to anything the table was talking about.

matty had just smirked, leaned in close to kiss your cheek like he hadn’t just dragged his thumb across the dampest part of your knickers. “pathetic.”

—

and now you’re here.

straddling his thigh in the soft flicker of the living room lamp, skirt bunched around your waist, hands braced on his shoulders. he hasn’t touched you since you got home. not really. just sat down, legs spread, and nodded toward his thigh like it was a throne.

“as needy as you were, you only deserve this,” he’d said, lighting up a cigarette with the same casual air he wore at dinner. “if you’re good, i’ll think about fucking you.”

that was- god, that was ages ago now.

you’ve been grinding slow and steady, chasing it with every shaky roll of your hips. the friction of his trousers is maddening, firm beneath your soaked panties, and every time your clit brushes just right, you gasp like it’s the first time. but you still haven’t tipped over. still clenching and whining and panting through your teeth.

“not very efficient, are you?” he drawls, lips twitching into something cruel and fond as he takes another drag. “been at it how long now?”

you whimper, pressing down harder. “matty.”

he pouts at you. mocking. soft little frown like he’s devastated on your behalf. “what is it, darling? can’t get off without me?”

you shake your head, frustrated tears pricking at your eyes. “i can, it’s just- ugh.”

“i disagree with you. i think i spoil you too much.” his free hand lifts, lazy fingers brushing your flushed cheek. “i always give you what you want. always get you off and now you can’t do it yourself.”

your body jolts again, hips stuttering as you find a better angle- just right, almost perfect. it drags a breathy gasp from your throat and matty grins, all teeth and heat. he leans in closer, cigarette hovering behind your back now.

“there you go. clever girl. took you long enough.”

you can’t answer. you’re already too far gone. hips rolling fast now, small broken moans spilling out between your lips as you grind down hard, thighs trembling.

his voice is a quiet hum beneath you, “making such a mess on my trousers now, look at you.”

but it slips. it slips. just as your muscles start to seize, just as your breath catches in that perfect little inhale, it fades like smoke, like it was never really there. and you let out a noise that’s all frustration and disbelief, dropping your forehead to his shoulder.

“no, no no no-“

matty laughs.

you want to cry.

“oh, baby,” he coos, pulling back to look at you. “you really are pathetic tonight.”

“shut up,” you hiccup, still trying, still grinding, even though your rhythm’s broken now. messy and too fast. it���s not working. it’s never going to work.

“s’not very nice, that.” he blows smoke over your shoulder, tuts softly. “m’bein’ generous. lettin’ you use me like this. and all i get in return is whining?”

you make another little sound, high and broken. he hasn’t touched you properly in hours and you’re aching with it. cunt fluttering uselessly against his thigh, thighs shaking, eyes wet.

matty leans in close, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “gonna cry ‘cos you can’t come, darling? is that where we’re at?”

you nod. miserably.

he hums, hands finally finding your hips, holding you down firm as he shifts his leg just a little. enough to make you feel it again.

“tell me what you need.”

“you,” you gasp, falling forward, nose brushing the curve of his throat. “need you, matty, please, i can’t do it without you-“

“no, you can’t,” he says, “s’what i’ve been saying, love.“

you’re still panting against his throat, hips twitching like your body doesn’t know whether to keep going or give up entirely. your lip’s still caught between your teeth trembling now and matty’s got this look in his eye that makes your belly flip.

“please,” you whisper, barely there. “matty, please-“

he hums. not in a way that promises relief, but more like he’s mulling it over. maybe.

“please what, darling?” his thumb traces circles into your hipbone. “what exactly is it you want me to do?”

you whine. slump forward. it’s humiliating how little pride you’ve got left. “help me- just help me, i, please,” you huff the last beg.

matty clicks his tongue softly, and his hands tighten. one at your waist, the other sliding lower, slow and deliberate, fingers pressing into the crease of your thigh. “i’ll help you, then,” he says, “but you are gonna finish what you started.”

and then he shifts his leg, presses you down hard, not enough to hurt, just enough to feel, deep and blunt and perfect. you gasp out loud, hips jerking, the shock of it so good it almost knocks the breath from your lungs.

“there you go,” matty murmurs, lips dragging slow along your jaw as his hands guide you. “just like that. see? not so hard, is it?”

he’s barely moving you, really. just small pushes, coaxing your hips into that same rhythm again. but it’s enough. it’s better than enough. your thighs are shaking already and it’s barely been a minute.

you moan and his smile turns sharp against your cheek.

“keep goin’,” he says, and then his hands fall away.

just like that.

gone.

your body stutters. almost freezes up. like you don’t know how to move without him holding you there. but he doesn’t correct it, doesn’t reach back for you, just leans back into the couch, one arm thrown over the backrest like he’s settling in for a film.

“c’mon, love,” he tuts, watching you with a lazy grin. “don’t give up now.”

you try. you do. force your hips to keep rolling, fists curled in the fabric of his shirt. but it’s not right anymore. you can feel it slipping again, the angle too shallow, the pace off, the ache building without relief.

matty doesn’t miss a thing.

his eyes flicker down to your mouth, and then his thumb is brushing over your bottom lip.

“you’re so cute, baby,” he murmurs, half-laughing. “i absolutely ruined you.”

your breath hitches. you press your cheek into his palm.

“can’t just give you what you want though, can i?” he goes on, “cos that would prove my point.”

“i don’t fucking care about your point,” you snap or try to, but your voice cracks halfway through and it comes out choked. “just- please, please-”

matty laughs. full-body, delighted. you hate him.

“god, i love you like this,” he says, “you sound wrecked. so desperate to come.”

you glare at him, eyes glossy. your thighs are trembling from holding yourself up, and you don’t think you can take much more of the teasing. every nerve in your body is on fire, too close to the edge to even think straight.

matty sees it and finally, finally, he leans forward again.

his hand cups the back of your neck, fingers slipping into your hair as he pulls you in close. “alright,” he whispers, brushing his lips over your ear. “i’ve got you.”

and then his thigh shifts again, a sharp, perfect nudge, and his other hand finds your hips, pulling you down just right. you sob.

“there she is,” he breathes. “good girl. go on. take what you need.”

your hips fall back into it like they never stopped, rutting fast now, sloppier by the second. you’re so close it hurts, moaning into his throat, chasing every inch of pressure.

“fuck, fuck- matty, i’m-”

“you’re so easy. really? that’s all it takes for you?,” he murmurs, stroking down your spine, voice so low it’s almost a growl. “come on my thigh then. make a fucking scene about it.”

you do.

you come with a gasp that rips out of your chest, full-body and overwhelming, shaking and twitching through it while matty holds you down firm, coaxing every last pulse out of you.

when it’s over, you collapse in his lap like you’ve got nothing left. head on his shoulder, lips parted, body limp.

he kisses your temple, smiling.

“there we are,” he says. “finally stopped whining.”

[ginevrapng]

studying with your boyfriend is something you love but also hate. he's a great teacher and explains everything that you don't understand or that professors haven't explained to you the right way for you to understand but you also don't like studying with neville because he's so hot when he's tutoring you that it's distracting.

the whole time neville will be trying to help you with your exam next week you'll be wanting to snog him and find a quiet and dark place in the library to suck his dick.

"are you listening flower?" he asks when you haven't made any input to the conversation. honestly you're not, you're watching the way his eyebrows furrow as he crosses out a misspelling and how he's rolled his jumper up to his forearms. his lip is slightly jutting out and you want to reach over to him and grab his face and kiss him until you're both dizzy.

he looks over to you to see you staring at his lips and smirks. he knows that look on you well. "not now petal, we've got to get this all done," he tells you softly but sternly.

you really should listen, you know he's right but you can't pay attention when he's looking so attractive. "nev please, i need you so bad," you whine, hoping he'll give in and forget about the exam in favour of making out with you.

neville looks back up from his work to you and sighs starting to get exasperated with those puppy dog eyes and pleading words. "i said no."

some people in gryffindor still think of neville as this clumsy, shy and timid boy but he's changed, so when your boyfriend talks like that it's hard to go against him so you shut your mouth, at least for awhile.

neville sees your antsy behaviour and distracted self and decides to do something about it. "you're so needy petal, can't even spend a few hours concentrating without you trying to fuck me."

you pout at him, not realising that you weren't being convincing after he told you to start studying again. "i didn't do anything neville, promise," you say while looking down and playing with the hem of your skirt.

neville follows your eyes and then gets an idea on how to handle his girlfriend. "petal sit on my thigh."

your eyes widen in realisation. "neville we can't do that, not here," you whisper. whipping your head around the library you see that you're the only ones around and you are also in the back of the library but you still believe it to be to dangerous.

"thought you said you were needy?" you bit your lip in thought, he knows what you'll do. "haven't got all day flower." after that you slide out of your chair and stand in front of neville silently asking him where he wants you to sit. "come on, so you're facing me." you shyly nod your head and rest on his thigh.

neville places a delicate kiss on your temple and speaks lowly into your ear, "love you flower." at the same time he grabs hold of your soft hips and starts to drag your body against his thigh.

as you move more against neville's thigh you know that your knickers are getting wetter and they'll probably be a stain on his trousers if this goes on for long.

neville chose this so he could keep working if necessary but he's forgotten all about it. he can't help but drop everything to focus all his attention on you, it's impossible for him not to. he adores you and right now he's getting incredibly hard after hearing your small panting and feeling your doughy skin underneath his big palms. neville simply doesn't know where to look, at your quickly rising and falling chest that's pressed against him or your plush thighs that he can see now that your skirt has ridden up higher or your cute face scrunched up in pleasure.

you've wrapped your arms around neville's neck and you bury your face into his chest every time you feel a particularly loud moan about to leave your mouth. neville pushes some of your hair out of your face as you're beginning to get sweaty and kisses you all over your face.

his trousers get tighter and you increase your pace with the help and guidance of neville. your clit gets pressed against him constantly with the friction and you're losing all sense of how to talk. "nev, plea-, i- i feels s'good," you whine.

neville smirks, his whole confident aura is making you fuzzy. "alright petal, i've got you. hold on tightly to my neck." you nod frantically and hold on tighter. he sinks his fingers even deeper into your plush body, definitely leaving bruises. he flexes his thigh again, angles your body in the right way so that every time you move your clit gets stimulation and starts to move your body up and down, completely controlling your pace.

it's been a couple minutes as you start to form a new sentence "neville, i-"

neville already knows you're about to finish, you started clawing his neck and biting your lip harder trying to stifle any noise. "come f'me petal." you do, the coil building inside of you snaps and you see white. neville shoves his tongue in your mouth and kisses you, muffling your moan. your body shivers and you push your body up against his even more.

you take a couple minutes to breathe and afterwards shakily get off of neville. he holds onto your wrist to stabilise you and groans as he sees the aftermath you've left on his trousers. he takes a glance at the table with all your books on and mumbles 'fuck it' and starts shoving both of your work into his bag. neville's heart melts as he looks up to your cute confused face. "let's head back to my room petal." your face lights up as you remove your wrist from his hand and intertwine your fingers together, you start swinging both your hands as you walk out the library.

[gothicgaycowboy]

✮ Aemond Targaryen NSFW alphabet ✮

My modern Aemond’s parents are Rhaenyra and Alicent <3

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

At first he’s not really sure what to do. He’s a bit awkward when it comes to dealing with the aftermath of these things. But he is nothing if not eager to learn.

Once he understands what you need he will be more than happy to provide it whether it be checking in on you verbally or just holding you after it’s over.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He’s a big fan of his hands now. He didn’t really think about them much before, but when you pointed out how much you liked them he began to appreciate them more. He likes how large and strong they are and how quickly he can make you cum with them.

He’s a tits man all the way. Big or small he doesn’t really care he just likes looking at them, sucking on them, and squeezing them.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum basically)

He’s got a not so secret breeding kink. He doesn’t actually want kids right now but if you let him cum inside of you it’s game over.

‘You want me to fill you up don’t you? Want all my cum inside you so everyone will know you belong with me, hm?’

D = Dirty Secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

He’s got a real bad librarian fetish.

He’s embarrassed of how cliche it is. He’s not exactly sure why it happened, but he remembers one day accidentally stumbling upon Aegon’s porn mag collection and coming across a spread of a woman in a library wearing small framed glasses, her hair just pulled out of an up-do, wearing no shirt with her tight pencil skirt hiked up to pussy without any knickers on.

He ripped the spread out of the magazine knowing that if Aegon told their mums about it he would be in just as much trouble for owning a magazine like that. He doesn’t know how many times he wanked off to that picture, but he had to stop once the picture became too crumpled to even make out the shape of the woman anymore.

Maybe one day he’ll get the courage to ask you to do a little librarian role play with him.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Aemond didn’t go through the classic teenage boy slag phase like all his other brother’s did. He didn’t lose his virginity till he was 19 but that doesn’t mean he’s a dud — on the contrary he’s probably the most educated about sex out of all his siblings.

His love of knowledge didn’t stop outside of school hours. He spent everyday after class making sure that when the time was right and he found the right person it would be just as good for them as it would be for him.

Did this lead him down some rabbit holes of knowledge about things a teenager boy shouldn’t know? Yes absolutely.

Did he regret it? Definitely not.

F = Favorite Position (this goes without saying, may include a visual)

Cowgirl. He loves watching you bounce on top of him, biting your lower lip to keep quiet for the neighbours.

He also enjoys the fact that it’s a position where either of you can be in control. There’s been many time where you have started out in control until he grips onto your hips slapping the skin of your ass against the front of his thighs.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous?)

Definitely more serious. There isn’t anything Aemond doesn’t take 100% seriously most of the time and sex isn’t any different. When it’s happening he’s a man on a mission.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes?)

Completely shaven bare, not that there was much hair to shave in the first place.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He’s surprisingly romantic in the moment. He knows what being used feels like and he never wants you to feel that way. Even when he gets rough he always reassures you it’s all for your pleasure.

J = Jack Off (how often do they do it? how do they feel about it?)

Almost never. He would much rather have you touch him than have to do it himself. He’s patient enough to wait if he must.

And when he knows he won’t see you for a while wether that be because one of you is going out of town, or just busy with work, he’ll request you send him some scandalous photos so he won’t miss you as much. That or phone sex.

K = Kink (what are they into?)

He’s a secret fem dom enjoyer, not necessarily in the traditional whips and chains way but he just likes it when you take control. Bossing him around, praising him, maybe a few smack here and there.

He’s also all about giving what he gets. Being called sir whenever he’s in charge while he simultaneously praises and degrades you. It’s a balancing act he throughly enjoys.

And some good old fashioned exhibitionism on the side.

L = Location (favourite places to have sex)

He really likes having sex on your couch because there’s a few positions that are way more comfortable there than on your bed. If he’s feeling adventurous he’ll definitely be up for bathroom sex (clean bathroom sex that is, he’s not an animal).

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going?)

He likes a challenge. Whenever you tease by telling him you’re not wearing any underwear, or playing footsies with him under the table, he is instantly growing a tent in his slacks.

He makes it his goal to get you back every time and get you back he does.

He’s also just a sucker for you dressing up for him. Lingerie or skimpy dress, if you’re wearing it, he is ripping it off.

N = Nope (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He can’t deal with anything unsanitary or unsafe. Choking you a little? Sure of course. Choking up with a belt? Not happening. He knows how fragile the human windpipe is.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He feels guilty about it but he definitely prefers receiving. It’s not like he hates giving — trust he can eat pussy like nobody’s business, but the feeling of your mouth wrapped around his cock is something nothing else could compare to in his mind. If you offer to let him fuck your throat he will take that opportunity so fast you won’t even be able to comprehend what’s happening before you’re kneeling on the floor.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual?)

He can go either way but more often than not it’s pretty rough. You have spent many nights at his place and woken up the next morning with a limp and a sore ass.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often?)

He’s alright with them. They’re not his favourite because he doesn’t like to feel rushed when he’s fucking you — he takes his time, but if it’s the only option he needs his fix of you more than he needs to wait for the next time he has enough time to take it slow.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks?)

He’s not really experimental but if you tell him something you’re interested in trying he’s down to try it at least once (unless it’s one of his hard nos of course).

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last?)

He’s a pretty physically active guy and that shows with his stamina. He usually only taps out once he’s dehydrated.

T = Toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Aemond doesn’t own any himself but he likes using the ones you own on you, especially the vibrator. He thinks it’s incredibly dumb when guys view sex toys as competition rather than tools that can be used to make sex better.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease?)

World’s biggest tease. It’s part of the fun of the game you two play together. Sitting across from each other at dinner with his family is pure torture for both of you. Sucking way too long on your dessert spoon while he wipes the corner of his mouth with his finger so he can suck it clean.

If he’s in a teasing mood he makes it everyone else’s problem. His poor mothers just wanted a nice innocent family dinner.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make?)

Not too loud when it comes to sounds besides grunts but a dirty little mouth on him. Runs in his family.

‘You’re my dirty whore, you know that right?’ ‘That’s it, cum all over my cock for me’

W = Wild Card (a random headcanon)

He has a throughly put together sex playlist. It’s a bunch of different genres and artists and he spent months working on it before he had sex for the first time.

X = X-Ray (what’s goin’ on under those clothes?)

Two words. Big balls.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive? how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Again he’s a pretty active guy, it’s like he’s in a competitive sport where the only competition is himself and the only goal is to fuck you until he physically cannot move anymore.

Z = ZZZ (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He can get pretty worn out after it’s done but he has a rule never to pass out before you. He’s a romantic in that way.

[madridfangirl]

I'm taking you home NOW!

(Part 2 of the one-shot. On popular demand. Part one here. This is SMUT.)

Summary: Jude sees his girlfriend at a club, tries to control himself as he watches her have the time of her life, but ultimately decides to take the matter in his own hands. What happens when he finally gets his hands on her?

Inspired from an anon request.

She hung up. Jude couldn’t believe she hung up on him.

He stared at his phone, then at her through the glass, then back at his phone.

Boy, was he going to make her pay.

Ananya realised that wasn’t a very smart move but he had completely thrown her off-guard. Between fight or flight, her instincts went with the latter. She could feel his gaze on her as she walked back to her table, the intensity burning her skin even through the distance and glass divider. She didn’t dare to look in that direction and sat down with her back to him.

Jude stayed there for a few seconds, half-inclined to walk down there right now and make good on his threat. But if he did that, sex would be off the table tonight. His parents / team would get a heart attack from the scandal he would have caused. And Ananya - oh she would strangulate him with her bare tiny hands.

Grudgingly, he dragged himself back to his teammates. Brahim elbowed him as soon as he sat down, telling him he was being too plain. Just that, the rest of the guys were pissed drunk already and hadn’t noticed. Jude couldn’t get himself to care. His thoughts were elsewhere.

Ananya knew he wouldn’t just let it go. And she was proven right 5 mins later when her phone buzzed. 

It was a picture with him, Cama, Vini and three waitresses. Two of them were on either side of Jude, their arms around his back and his around theirs. Both leaning against him, a little too close, looking all giddy and infatuated. The typical reaction he invoked in girls.

She started at her screen, open-mouthed, at his obvious attempt to rile her up. No, she won’t give him the satisfaction. She watched her tone carefully before texting him back.

Ananya: ??

Jude: Sent by mistake. Was sending to one of the girls.

Please, like she was born yesterday.

Jude: They didn’t have their phone on them so I took from mine & sending over. To the one on my right.

So, Jude had her number and she had Jude’s. 

Ananya: How sweet.

The girl was pretty. A classic petite, sexy Spanish brunette. A high-end waitress for the VIP section of one of the most posh clubs in Madrid. In her tight-fitted top & mini-skirt. Ananya knew from first-hand experience how Jude had a fetish for such uniforms. 

Jude: Yeah she’s over the moon. Thanking me non-stop.

She groaned. The boy was smart, talking in insinuations so she couldn’t hold anything over his head. So he doesn’t lose the moral high-ground he had right now. So he could always say later ‘oh it was just a nice thing I did for my fans.’ 

The fucker. The absolute shrewd twat. 

It had taken him all of 5 mins to swing this. The girl was probably touching his arm right now, trying to get his attention in her barely there attire. Batting her lashes, smiling extra hard. Reserving special service for him. Ready to drop her knickers at his one look. 

Her friend probably wanted to join in too. Both in a frenzy over how sweet he was being. Trying to score with the hottest property in football right now (literally & figuratively), who was drunk (ergo unreserved) and looked like an absolute meal tonight. 

This happened all too often with him. Offers for quickies in washrooms / hook-ups / one-night stands tended to pour in for him freely. Jude would tell her every time someone hit on him so explicitly or proposition him so openly. It was an unspoken understanding between them, something that gave her comfort.

Usually, he would nip these things in the bud, not providing any encouragement. But tonight, would he indulge a bit? To get back at her for her supposed flirting?

She hadn’t flirted, she hadn’t. She just smiled a bit cheesily at the bartender and chatted him up so she could get her drinks faster. That’s it. That wasn’t flirting, right?

Jude would vehemently disagree. But fuck him. 

And fuck the fact that he knew her so well. He knew what this photo would do to her. The exact things running through her mind. How she would notice that his hands were on their waist, not their shoulders which was his usual with other girls. How she’d be able to tell that the girls were trying to throw themselves at him. 

And it had taken him less than 5 mins to orchestrate this. Such was his charm.

The bastard. She hated his guts right now.

He wanted every single one of these 30 mins to be a torture for her. Not letting her have the win. And he was succeeding. In her heart, she knew he wouldn’t cross the line, she trusted him. But there was a grey area that existed between nonchalance and crossing the line. And Jude being Jude was obviously well aware of that grey area of ‘humouring someone’ or ‘harmless flirting.’

If she was making him wait, then he wanted to make sure she feels the pinch of it too. To the point where SHE suggests to call it a night sooner. How sweet a win that would be for him, he’d forever throw that in her face.

No. Whatever happens, she won’t succumb to such lows. Even the great, most desirable Jude Bellingham would have to wait once in a while. Even if it was killing her from the inside.

Ananya: Careful, unless you wanna sleep on the couch tonight.

Jude: Neither of us are sleeping tonight.

She hated the shiver that ran down her spine. She hated the power he had over her, making her tremble just with his words.

In need of some liquid courage, Ananya downed three more shots of tequila quickly. That, and the lack of food during the night, hit her straight in the head. She went to the washroom to fix her look, re-applying the makeup.

It was almost time. To walk into the lion’s den. A pissed-off predator on edge. At least that’s what it felt like as she somehow found the way to the back-door of the VIP section.

When she saw his car, she froze. Not knowing what to expect tonight. He’d always been possessive & dominant, but tonight he felt unhinged. Like some switch had flipped in his head. 

When she didn’t move for a few more seconds, her phone started ringing. She didn’t bother looking, she knew it was him. Growing impatient. Wanting her to move her butt. As if he was the king of the world.

Cocky, entitled prick.

Half-pissed and full drunk, she marched to the car. As soon as she got into the back-seat, she turned towards him.

‘Just you? Thought your admirers would join you.’

Jude scoffed, looking at her like she had let his childhood pup run to the road and get hit by a car.

‘Look who’s talking.’

Their eyes locked in a fiery staring contest.

‘YOU SENT ME A FUCKING PHOTO YOU JERK.’

‘You started it.’

The fact that he was able to keep his head and speak with an even tone pissed her off further.

‘I started it? I STARTED IT? OH YOU LITTLE…’

A timid uncomfortable clearing of throat from the front seat broke her out of her rage. Poor Agnes wanted to be invisible in that moment.

‘Ummm, sorry but shall we get going? The security is signalling us to clear the lane.’

Jude recovered quickly while Ananya sat numb. Having completely forgotten about the sweet chauffeur’s existence. Someone she had grown fond of. Someone her uncle’s age maybe. Someone she respected. And she just made a scene in front of him. Horrified, she sunk into her seat.

‘Yes please. Take us home.’

‘Sure thing.’

His place was a short 15 min away. Especially at this hour of the night.

She was determined to let these minutes pass without any other incident. But Jude had other plans.

He took off his jacket and threw it over her, covering her waist and legs. Before she could tell him she wasn’t cold or anything, his hand found its way under the jacket to her thigh, lifting her dress up, grabbing her bare skin.

She gaped at him in shock, but he looked straight ahead, completely nonchalant. 

The pressure of his hand increased. She bit her lip to muffle her gasp, trying to push his hand away but Jude stayed firm. She tried again but he gripped her harder, showing her how it will play out if she struggles more.

She couldn’t push him away with more force. She couldn’t call him out verbally. She couldn’t throw the jacket away while his hand was there. With Agnes sitting ahead, all these would create such a scandal in her head that it would take forever to recover from the embarrassment.

And Jude knew that. He knew she didn’t have an escape, and he pounced on the opportunity.

His hand travelled further up, brushing against her core. Her shocked whimper didn’t go unnoticed this time, and Ananya tried to cover it up by pretend cough.

‘Would you like some water?’

Agnes passed over a bottle to her, which she took gratefully. While Jude suppressed a smirk building at the corner of his lips. How she wanted to slap that pretty face right now.

While she sipped the water, his fingers brushed against her again, and some water spilled out. A trail of droplets went down her lips, via her long neck, soaking her cleavage, disappearing into her strapless dress. Drawing Jude’s attention. He stared at her wet, smooth, glistening skin and cursed inwardly when she wiped off the spilled water with her hand, missing his thirsty look altogether.

His hand assaulted her sensitive skin with more intent, alternating between her thigh and her core. Feeling how wetness started to pool between her legs. 

Helpless, she looked out of the window. Hoping for the universe to swallow her whole. Biting her hand / wrist to mask her whimpers. Feeling a strange mix of anger, frustration & arousal. All feelings accentuated due to her drunken state. He was stroking the fight away from her, one touch at a time. Every move calculated to turn her into a whiny hot mess. Needy, pliant and ready for him.

She hated him for putting her in this vulnerable position. But her body was responding to the thrill of it. Jude was the king of spontaneity and adventure, never a dull moment with him.

Finally, they reached home. The ride felt like 3 hours to her, but it had only been 12 mins.

‘Thanks Agnes. You can leave the car here.’

The middle-aged man turned towards his boss, confused. The car was in the open driveway, not in the covered garage where he usually parked.

‘It might rain tonight. And the dust…’

‘It’s alright. See you tomorrow. Good night.’

‘Good night to you too.’

A very confused Agnes got out of the car, as his passengers remained in the back seat.

Ananya knew where this was going. Doing it in the car was one of Jude’s fetishes too. He would have preferred an open road if he wasn’t who he was. She was just thankful he waited for Agnes to be out of hearing distance.

As soon as Jude saw the compound gate click shut, he grabbed her waist and pulled her into his lap, making her straddle him. Her dress inched further up by the position, pooling at her waist, revealing her matching red lace panties. Jude traced the border of the flimsy garment with his index finger, losing his focus for a few seconds, while she tried to gauge his mood by studying his face.

She was still mad at him but darn it she also needed him now. His expert fingers had worked their magic as usual. And her drunken state was making her needy. She liked to be taken softly & slowly after being buzzed. While that wasn’t gonna happen tonight, given the mood he was in, but maybe she could find a middle ground.

Ananya leaned forward, trying to kiss his lips, but he grabbed the back of her head, keeping her in place. Staring at her with a ferocious intensity. Like he wanted to eat her alive.

‘You had your fun tonight.’

Being the sole object of his undivided, obsessive attention was also intoxicating in its own way. There were surely worse things in the world than Jude Bellingham wanting to fuck you anytime he wanted.

And she needed him to get on with it, preferably not too roughly.

‘Yes, with my friends.’

Her tone was soft and assuaging. She moved in his lap, trying to rub herself against his crotch, but he grabbed her hips too, not letting her dictate the terms.

‘Not JUST with your friends.’

The image of the bartender and those ugly, sweaty guys trying to dance with her was still fresh in his mind.

Arguing that point would be useless, so she changed tact, keeping her tone sensuous.

‘Does it matter? I was always going to come home to you.’

He scoffed, incredulously. 

‘YOU REFUSED ME. I NEEDED you and you REFUSED ME.’

He was painfully half-hard most of the night, all because of her. And she had refused to take care of his need.

‘Didn’t refuse you baby, just asked for a bit more time with my friends.’

‘Yeah right.'

Despite her horniness, his petulant tone was starting to set her off. Here she was trying to be the adult, to let bygones be bygones, but he was stuck on being petty. 

‘What are you implying exactly?’

‘That you FLIRTED with that asshole, you KNEW what you were doing. And then you picked your friends OVER ME.’

He was probably right about the flirting bit. In a rational state she may have conceded this. But rationality had gone out of the window at his entitled cribbing.

‘Yeah, and what about what you did, huh?’

She grabbed the collar of his shirt, both to shake him and to steady herself.

‘I got one night in weeks, WEEKS, to get out of work early and have fun with my friends. But you wanted me to drop EVERYTHING and run to you at your first command? To be at your beck and call all the time? I don’t deserve one night off?’

‘All the time? ALL THE TIME? We have barely….’

‘SHUT UP.’

She yelled like she meant it, shushing him up for good.

‘And you had the audacity to send me THAT photo? Fuck that, you had the audacity to TAKE THAT PHOTO? What did you do to make them so giddy, huh? Smiled at them? Paid some compliments? Let your gaze linger? Brushed your fingers against their hand? What did you fucking do in those 5 mins that they were FALLING ALL OVER YOU?’

Jude leaned back against the seat. Smug, proud, making no effort to hide the sentiment.

That egotistical dickhead.

‘Who says I did anything?’

‘I’ll fucking slap you I swear. TELL ME.’

Jude eyed her, calculating his next move, choosing his words carefully.

‘Just said I liked what they were wearing.’

She shook him by his collar. Hard.

Jude loved it when she was all pliant and needy. But he loved it even more when she was this feisty & lippy with him.

The image of him complimenting them and them turning into mush on the spot made her want to puke. 

Enraged, Ananya moved to smack him on his chest but he grabbed her wrists, hard enough so she feels the sting.

Another defiant staring contest ensued, as she struggled to get off his lap, failing miserably, her movement making his blood rush south.

Defeated and pissed off, she reverted to a verbal retort.

‘Maybe I should call that bartender and say that to him too, yeah? He did give me his number after all.’

He hadn’t. Well, he was about to do that but she cut him off at the right time. To hell with facts though.

Jude stilled, then turned the full force of his glare at her, face heating up with ire at her words. 

She tried to meet his eyes head on, but it was like staring into the sun. It burned her, and she flinched, looking away to shield herself.

He locked her arms behind her back, tightening his grip on her wrists, his hot & heavy breath causing goosebumps on her face. 

She thanked her stars for not mentioning Arjun instead of the bartender, an option she had considered briefly. God knows how nuclear he would have gone then. Would have probably kept her locked in his room, tied to his bed for weeks on end.

‘He did what?’

His voice was low & threatening, somehow a lot more sinister than when it was raised. She felt its effect straight between her legs.

‘Answer me, sweetness.’

Oh, the bite in that suppose endearment. She shuddered involuntarily. But she was too far in to back out now.

‘I…I wasn’t gonna do anything about it.’

‘Immaterial, darling. You let him think he had a shot, yeah? That he could take you home tonight, or to his car, or a quickie in the loo. Correct?’

She shook her head from side to side in a no, unable to find the right words to respond. 

‘No? So when you were bending over the counter, giving him a view of this…’

He grabbed a breast harshly, making her gasp.

‘….was it to tell him that you were taken?’

She whined loudly under his touch.

‘Jude c’monnn I….’

‘Quiet.’

She hated herself for complying immediately. Like an obedient pet. 

The temperature around them was both burning hot and ice cold at the same time. Silence hung heavy in the air, only the sound of heavy breaths breaking through. 

And then, she heard the unlocking of his belt buckle.

Her eyes went to his waist, as he slowly took off his belt. What he did next made her throat go dry.

Jude tied her hands behind her back with his belt, in a tight grip, while she was still straddling him. His eyes boring a hole through her shaking body.

‘Someone needs to learn how to behave. And a reminder of who she belongs to.’

She wished he would go back to his frenzied ire. Because whatever it is he was doing right now with his chilly even tone was a thousand times more unnerving. She had never seen him like that before. 

‘This dress……was to be worn for me. But now, you’ve ruined it.’

She guessed his next move, but before she could utter a word in protest, strong hands ripped through her dress. Forcefully and mercilessly. Like that garment had personally offended him somehow. 

Ananya saw the remnants fall over the floor of the car in a pile, swiftly followed by her lace panties. It was a shame; she really liked both of those. He had bought them both for her.

Jude looked at her now naked form, while she still hid from his gaze.

He tapped on her lips with two fingers, gently. Then shoved them inside. Spreading her legs with his other hand, he shoved two fingers inside her wet, tight, leaking heat. Then latched on to a nipple with his teeth. Her resulting cries were muffled with his fingers in her mouth.

She was helpless, unable to do anything but to let him have his way. Whining & moaning through it all.

Jude’s hands worked at fast pace, sending her into an overdrive. Then, he switched both hands, making her taste herself on his fingers. As his mouth paid equal attention to both nipples. 

She shuddered violently when his thumb found her clit, as his fingers scissored her mercilessly. And she came on his fingers while screaming his name, falling over his chest, as he made her suck the fingers clean.

Jude gave her precisely 10 seconds to catch her breath, while he unzipped his trousers.

Immediately after, she found herself being brought down over his rock-hard dick, whimpering all the way through. As always, she struggled to take him all in, especially with this angle, and he revelled in the sight, getting extra hard by it, finally nudging his way in.

She had never been rendered this helpless before. Her legs were cramping and her arms were immobile as he bounced her up and down relentlessly, like a maniac. The overstimulation making her eyes water.

His mouth travelled through her torso, leaving angry marks on her sensitive skin. It was pointless asking him to go easy so she didn’t even try.

But when his thumb found her clit again, forcing her towards another orgasm while he was still nowhere near his, she begged him to slow it down. He went just a tad slower, just to humour her but the pressure made her head spin. He was playing her body like a pro, applying just the right pressure at all her sensitive spots together, wrecking her completely. While she was just a helpless doll in his lap.

Jude looked at her bouncing body, swollen & sweaty with his attention, just how it should be. Instead of slowing it down, he increased his pace. And the pressure of his fingers and teeth.

Ananya cried out in painful pleasure. 

She knew what he wanted. She had been fighting hard not to give him the satisfaction. But she was close to shattering again. And he would keep going like a madman till he extracted what he wanted from her. He’d somehow push out his own release and she was nearing the brink of passing out from overstimulation. 

After a long time, she looked straight into his eyes.

‘I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry?’

‘Yeah, what for?’

‘FOR EVERYTHING.’

She cried out with an extra hard thrust.

‘More specific.’

He wouldn’t let go, not even now, not when he had her completely at his mercy, not when she was meeting him 80% of the way. 

‘For….the bartender…the waiting…the dancing…the fighting…..the dress…..the bra…just…..please Jude.’

Her helpless moaning of his name and the sheer submission of her body did the trick. 

Jude undid her wrists, and brought them around his neck, stroking the bruised areas softly.

She sought out his lips for comfort and he kissed her back slowly, while still bouncing her rhythmically on top of him. Sweaty limbs intertwined. 

Their lips found their familiar motions as her nails dug into his shoulders. He sighed at the sensation. Both nearing their peaks.

‘Dove?’

Her heart swelled at the fondness in his tone and the use of her nickname.

‘Yeah baby?’

Their eyes met. How she could just drown in those honeyed orbs and never come back for air. What a sweet demise that would be.

‘Nothing happened with those girls. I didn’t want them.’

Her heart threatened to leap out of her chest now. And her tears spilled for a different reason. He kissed them away, peppering her face with kisses.

‘I know baby. I know.’

She hugged him tightly, as he rocked them both to their pleasures, coming down from their highs while still clinging to each other.

A few minutes later, he unwrapped her from around himself, covered her in his jacket, and carefully picked her up to carry her to bed, tucking her in.

As he slid under the covers and came to hold her, she stopped him with a hand to his chest.

Confused, he searched her face but came up with nothing.

‘What?’

‘You need to go back to the car now.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I don’t want Agnes to find my torn clothes tomorrow.’

‘I’ll do it in the morning.’

‘We might end up sleeping late and he comes in early.’

‘You want me to go down right now?’

‘Won’t you? For me?’

‘Fine. Whatever.’

She smiled as he stomped his feet all the way down to the car, making his displeasure known, but still keeping her wish.

..........................................................

There you go.

I had no plans for Part 2 but your enthusiasm made it happen.

Let me know your thoughts / comments :)

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to 1920s Fashion

A post Pandemic, post war world ruled by billionaires living it up with an economic depression looming - no, not the 2020s, the 1920s. The 1920s was an era known for its bold fashion, where men and women left pre-war fashion behind in order to party it up.

Underwear

Women

Now, you may have heard that women didn't wear corsets in the 1920s. And you're partially right, this was the era Bras became popular. But women still wore corsets even if they weren't as popular as before. Corsets adapted, now instead of giving a lady a waist, it flattened her bosom because flat chests were in fashion. However, some flappers refused to wear corsets at all. Some clubs even had a corset check room, where girls could abandon their corset for their night out. Bras were more like sports bras today as in they were rectangular in shape and held everything down. Both corsets and bras were usually a flesh colour or pale fabric, and popularily made out of silk or rayon. Garter belts were worn around the waist, past the hips and hung with clips to fasten one's stockings so they wouldn't fall down. Under all of this the lady still wore her chemise which was now called a slip, along with a vest and cami knickers. Women would wear stockings, usually sheer or black while young girls would wear socks.

Men

Like women, this was an era of new underwear - the boxer shorts. These were tied by a drawstring but about 1929, elastic waists were becoming more popular. Men would wear vests as well. If your fella doesn't like boxers or a vest, he can wear a union suit which combines the two in one. Socks were also very interesting in this period because mens socks became louder and more patterned. Suspenders held up trousers, either clipped on or buttoned in place.

Day Wear

We all know the basics of what they would have worn on a night out at the club but what did the people of the 1920s actually wear on a day to day basis?

Men

Suits: Men wore 3 piece suits, so trousers, jacket and waist coat. The lapels were wide, the trousers were high rise and cuffed for the Gods. Most of the suits were wool or plaid or tweed and stripes were very popular. For days out at the seaside or in the heat, linen suits were worn sometimes with jaunty pinstripes. The jackets and trousers were looser than their predessor.

Shirts: Shirts were also often striped, the collars either white or matching the shirt. Some would have pockets. with white or matching collars. Dress shirts would have detachable collars but casual shirts usually had them attached.

Sweaters: Sweaters were mainly for sporting pursuits, like fishing or golf. Sweater Vests: Knitted vests worn over shirts.

Women

Dresses: Women were more out and about in the 1920s than they had before so they needed dresses that reflected that. Day dresses were generally looser and had a drop waist. The skirt would fall usually to just below the knees. Day to day dresses could have long sleeves but a lot of 1920s dresses were short sleeved or 3/4 length.

Blouses and Skirts: Blouses and skirts would also be worn, usually of matching fabric and loose fitting much like dresses, also. Skirts were fastened with hooks. This was also the

Coats: Ladies would wear long coats over their ensemble.

Night Out

Women

For the night out in the club or speakeasy, they wore loose dresses, either without any sleeves or cap sleeves (usually sheer). The "flapper" dress was straight up, straight down, knee length and low cut. More formal parties might see a lady drift more to the robe de style, which composed off a wide skirt but without a definitive waist. Bold patterns, beading, statement fabrics were all the rage. Headpieces and headbands were worn instead of hats.

Men

For the guys, the tuxedo was the go to club wear for the upper echelon but the lower classes would still be dapper in their best suits. Men often exchanged their day shirts for penny collar shirts which were far lighter.

Children

Girls wore dresses, usually rather loose like pinafores. The length of the hemlines showed the girls' age, the further the hem line was dropped. Patterned dresses were popular. Peter pan collars and smocking were also popular. For days at the seaside, they might wear sailor dresses often paired with straw hats.

Boys wore shirts and shorts, their shorts would develop into trousers as they grew up. Short sleeved shirts would be worn in summer. Sweater vests were popular too. Blazers were popular too and boys would wear caps when heading out.

Accessories

Spats: Spats are white covers worn over a man's dress shoes.

Hair Accessories: Hair accessories were very au corant in the '20s. Tiaras we're still worn but now across the brow. Headbands were popular, pins, feathers and even Egyptian inspiration headpieces that dripped jewels down the curve of their hair.

Hats: Every man would wear a hat outside. Every man of every rank or class. Flat caps were worn by upper and lower classes, so were fedoras, Derbies, Homburgs, Panamas, and boaters. Straw hats were worn by the seaside. Women also wore hats outside. Clouche hats were popular, made of felt and worn low across the brow. Turbans were worn during the day as night. These were decorated with pins or feathers or fabric flowers.

Shoes: For men, Oxford's were popular with the middle and upper class, sports sneakers were worn while playing sports and lace up boots were worn during winter or at labour intensive jobs. For ladies, heeled pumps were all the rage.

Tie clips: Tie clips were pins worn to keep the tie in place.

Arm rings: Arm rings where worn to hold up the rolled up sleeves of men's shirts.

Make-Up and Hair

Make up was worn in the 1920s. The go to look was a heavy smokey eye, dark lip, bold brows and blush.

Hair is probably what you think of when you think of the 1920s. This was a post war world so women wanted to throw off the shackles of what bound them before starting with their hair. The bob became fashionable. For men, hair was grown out only long enough to be parted and slicked back.

[the-californicationist]

Hey Cali! This is my first ask (ever) so bare with me. Would you do Soap losing his v-card? Like, we know he’s confident in his abilities as a lover now, but what was he like as an awkward first timer? Maybe in his late teens/early 20’s? Thank you!!

I feel like Johnny tried his best to grow up as the good Catholic lad his ma wanted him to be, despite his early and obvious inclination to lustful stimulation. But the Good Book (mostly) only forbade the true act of sex, so… he decided to practice all of the other skills.

It started when he saw his first pair of gorgeous, hanging tits. His sweetheart had come swimming with him down by the pond behind his house, wearing nothing but a bra and knickers on a particularly hot summer day. She and Johnny had been jumping into the pond and dunking each other under all day, until one time, she came up but her bra stayed down, and there they were. The perfect, puffy nipple of her breast called to him like a siren’s tune, and he dedicated himself to learning every little thing he could about them from that point on. When he licked them with the tip of his tongue, or when he suckled them deep inside his hot mouth, or when he nipped at them with his sharp teeth; he memorized the noises she made like it was his favorite song.

But then, he discovered the juicy feel of her pussy lips on his mouth, and he was done for.

Sneaking off to throw rocks at the window of his pretty lass, coaxing her downstairs before stealing her away to hide in the heather with his head buried between her legs, licking her sweet cunt until his mouth went numb, holding her down with all of his strength, telling her what a bonnie wee lamb she was and to keep those soft thighs open for him. Never could seem to slake his thirst after that first time.

All the while, his poor neglected cock would leak and spill in his jeans, wet from his helpless rutting into the soft ground as he humped and licked and sucked until he came. The number of times he’d had to lie and say that he’d spilled tea down his trousers was getting to be ridiculous.

Or, when he took his little lamb on a date to see a scary film, holding her close as she hid her face from the movie monsters, he would comfort her. He’d coo and whisper to her to come a bit closer until she was nearly straddling his thigh. Then, he’d loop his hand below her skirt to feel that sticky heat that lay so close to him, playing just inside the rim of her sensitive hole. And when she gasped again, this time it wasn’t because she was afraid of the big baddies on the screen.

And he felt justified in his tireless training. When his bonnie girl would protest, saying it was wrong, it was a sin, that he shouldn’t be rubbing her there. He’d frown and shake his head, saying that she shouldnae fash her wee self. He wasnae prodding deep into her pussy with his thick, drooling cock. After all, it was just his fingers curling and pressing and digging for the spot that made her eyes shine with hot tears of pleasure. By the time he’d take her home, the poor lamb would barely be able to walk straight on those shaking legs.

It wasn’t until he met you that he thought about taking his practice to the next level. You let him take things so much further than his sweetheart had done. She’d never allowed him to lay his heavy body above her in her bed, and even if you were still fully clothed, she would never have convinced him to thrust himself against you over your silky pajamas, humping his cock over your slippery shorts.

And she never would’ve thought to tell him to take his clothes off while he was practicing. You know, to make it seem more like the real thing. It was no problem. Surely it was safe enough if you were still fully dressed, right? Well. Mostly dressed. Okay, maybe your satin slip was hanging low beneath your swaying tits, hypnotizing poor virginal Johnny as he pretended to fuck you.

But, when you finally got him to strip down, he could see the benefits. It did feel so real. As he shoved his swollen cock against your silk shorts, he could almost feel your body’s warmth embracing him in a carnal, forbidden way. And he would come so quickly at first. It took weeks of practicing before he could keep himself from spraying ropes of milky come all over your belly after only five minutes of grinding against your quim.

You loved watching him hone his craft, watching as his blue eyes begged and pleaded for release, his huge muscles twisting and bulging with every bed-shaking thrust, pushing his cockhead against your covered clit until you were a shuddering, whimpering mess.

Eventually, he could last long enough to pull you over the edge two or three times, enjoying dipping his fingers just inside the wide leg of your pajama shorts to pull your taste onto his fingers, licking you like a bowl of homemade frosting. Just a taste, bonnie.

The only problem was, the wetter you became, the more your silk shorts seemed to slide around, sometimes letting the hot body of his prick slip between your folds on accident.

Mostly on accident.

Surely Johnny would never be grinding himself exactly in the direction that moved your shorts to the side the easiest. Surely he could feel that he was thrusting against your soft flesh rather than the safety of your clothes. Surely that wasn’t his jerking, prodding cockhead that had slipped into the cradle of your quim…

Oops.

Looks like he’ll be on his knees asking Father for forgiveness, and you’ll be on your knees, looking up at him, stretching your throat out again, begging him for some more practice.

[kabr0ztrousers]

2 male tigers and f!reader bisexual threesom. Anytime if you want. I can wait.

Kabr0z Writes episode 112: Unicorn

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

And the AO3 here!

CWs: Oral sex; anal sex; vaginal sex; lots of sex; spined penises; enthusiastic consent

A/N: I'd like to extend a huge thank you to all the people who have sent in requests over the last few days, your support means so much to me.

That said, this series still has over 7 months left in it! So if you have an idea, or would like to see something revisited or expanded upon, send a request!

############################################

Their names were Jack and Tom. Big, chubby, if you didn't know better you could believe they were brothers. They'd be your entertainment for the evening. You met on the internet, a pair of bi tigers looking for a third. Was it unicorn hunting if the unicorn is the nominally straight one? You didn't know. All you were sure of was the younger of these two was ten years older than you, and called the other one daddy.

You weren't strictly allowed more than one guest at a time in student digs, but in late April when most of the student body's either gone home for Easter or practically living in the library, sneaking them in was easy. They were more than happy to slip in once you'd made sure the coast was clear, and now the three of you sat in your room. You looked from one of the big felines to the other. Orange fur, striped with black, fading to white bellies.

Their hands were already all over you, pulling you out of your blouse, stripping off your bra, groping your tits as fanged mouths nibbled the soft skin of your neck. A large hand slid down your waistband, a pawpad rubbing at you over your underwear as you groped at its owners bulge, holding his husband to your neck.

All at once, they lifted you, sitting you on your desk. Jack, the younger of the two, knelt in front of you, holding your knickers to one side as his head was under your skirt, rough tongue lapping at your cunt. Tom was stood over him, kneading your tits as his face was still pressed into your neck, leaving you a necklace of hickies as you moaned with delight. Both of the men were giving you all their attention, not passing up the novelty of having a first-year student to play with.

You pulled your legs up, perching your heels on the desk, opening yourself for Jack to get a better angle at you. His tongue rasped at you, the texture of it making you squirm as it passed over the outside of your cunt. Every so often you'd feel your lips parting for him, letting him run that rough tongue right up the centre of you, rubbing over the hole all the way up you your clit. You could feel yourself clenching for him, your cunt already twitching and leaking, begging to be filled.

You didn't have to wait long. Jack unbuttoned his partner's pants, pulling the thick, forty-year-old cock free before giving it a quick tug and pushing it up into you. You gasped at the size of it, and at the barbs that spread and pricked your insides. He held you to him as he took a large step backwards to sit on the bed, placing you on top of him. Jack didn't waste time either, stepping up behind you to place his own tapered, feline cock at your asshole.

You ground your hips into Tom, purring as you worked his cock inside you, rubbing it against your most sensitive places, hungry for the prickling scratching inside you as you came to a shuddering orgasm. You felt a familiar pawpad on your ass, holding your cheeks open as Jack rubbed a generous helping of lube onto your winking asshole.

He eased himself in gently. Your orgasmic moaning only intensifying as he pushed and pulled his way into your virgin asshole.

The two cocks rubbed against one another inside you, both working with each other to get you off. You could feel them filling you as you groaned and cried, their hands stroking your skin as your hips worked overtime. You didn't want it to stop, pushing yourself harder, grinding faster and deeper. Your hands squeezed your tits as Tom pinched your nipples, Jack's fingertips rubbing quick circles around your throbbing clit.

You screamed. Your hips stopped as your legs shook. All you could do was sit there and twitch, propped upright by the cocks in both of your holes

Your cunt clenched against Tom. Maybe a little too much. You felt him tense up under you as his cock began to twitch and throb. Thick spurts of cum flowed into you as he held you down onto him. Two last quick thrusts into your ass and Jack joined in, filling you up from the other side.

You sat there with the two men, enjoying their warmth as their cocks gradually softened inside you.

Cuddle piles are great

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Bit of a shorter, less narrative heavy episode tonight!

Once again, I remind you that requests are open! If you have an idea, drop me an ask to add it to the list, it'll most likely get made!

[pretty-little-mind33]

Robbie Jennings x fem!reader

Summary: Your long-time crush can't stop staring at you while he preforms with his band.

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: reader is 15, almost 16, and Robbie just turned 17 in this timeline, cursing, slut-shaming implied, bullying.

ROBBIE JENNINGS MASTERLIST

"What a slag," Lindsay groans from backstage as she folds her arms over her chest. She's glaring daggers at you. Her friend glances over, frowning. All you're doing is dancing with your friends.

Lindsay slaps her hand over her friend's stomach and nods her head towards Robbie, the guy she's been on a few dates with. Robbie is playing the guitar, his fingers working nimbly against the strings. He's concentrating and still, whenever he looks up, his gaze is stuck on you.

"Oh," Lindsay's friend mutters, realizing the problem.

They aren't the only ones.

"Oh. My. God! Y/n, Robbie Jennings can't keep his eye off you!" Your best friend, Jas, squeals as she shakes your arm. She continues dancing next to you, beaming. Ellen and Rosie giggle from beside you as your cheeks become warm.

You look towards the stage, your breath hitching when you catch Robbie's gaze immediately. You snap your head around, almost colliding into Georgia.

"Woah. What's got your knickers in a twist?" Georgia laughs, narrowing her gaze at you.

"Robbie's staring at her," Ellen points out.

"He is not!"

"He is!"

"No. Plus anyways, he's Georgia's. They had that thing last year," You stutter, still flustered but you try and continue dancing with your friends.

Georgia laughs wholeheartedly, griping your shoulder as she continues to dance with you. "That is so passé, Y/n. I'm dating Rob now. Y'know, tall," Georgia raises her arm, "skinny? Gorgeous eyes."

You nod, knowing who she's talking about but all you can think of is what she meant. Her and Robbie weren't dating? She doesn't like him anymore. But does that mean he is dating Lindsay again? Your head spins as the music blares louder and you turn your head again, peaking at the stage.

Robbie is still looking at you and this time he smiles. You feel like fainting.

"See, he's yours now," Jas giggles.

"Mine?" You look towards her, your eyes wide.

Rosie laughs and nods. Finally, the music dies down as the singer thanks the crowd. "Come off it, we all know you've been crushing hard even when Georgia liked him."

"We did?" Georgia asks, frowning. You shake your head at Rosie, shushing Ellen who tries to add her own opinion. You don't want Georgia to know you've liked Robbie all this time.

"Oh," Jas smacks your arm. Hard. "He's coming over!" You turn, seeing Lindsay intercept Robbie in the crowd as he walks towards you.

"What a skank," Georgia mutters, crossing her arms. "You're so much better than her." She turns to you and grins, clearly not fazed by knowing you've linked Robbie this entire time. "Well? Ya gonna let that bitch take your man?"

Your eyebrows knit, shaking your head a little hesitantly. Since when is he yours? God, you have a headache.

Georgia pushes you forward to where Robbie seems to be desperately trying to get away from Lindsay and the rest of your friends send you thumbs up. You feel ill with nerves.

When Robbie sees you walk through the crowd towards him, he beams. Lindsay turns her head and snarls when she sees you. She turns around fully and stands in front of you. "Leave us alone. Isn't it already humiliating enough that you're wearing that?" She smirks.

You look down at your outfit, feeling your heart sink. Plain white T, a jean skirt with a decent length, bright red tights, and white leg warmers because you like them. You open your mouth to defend yourself but Robbie does it for you.

"Lay off her, Lindsay," he says sternly and holds out his hand for you. "Come." He smiles. "Let's talk somewhere quieter, yeah?"

You take his hand, feeling like the world is spinning as his fingers brush yours. His hand is large and warm and you could just die right here. Robbie leads you towards the backdoor, opening it and propping it up with a brick. You shiver a little, leaning against the door as you smile at Robbie.

"You played well today," you manage a compliment, keeping things simple.

"Thanks. I was a little distracted tonight," Robbie admits, rubbing his nape. He looks you over, smiling. He can see you shiver. "I like your outfit by the way. Don't listen to Lindsay. It's really cute," he says as he shrugs off his leather jacket, the one he wears for his gigs, and draps it over your shoulders.

You look up at him, feeling all warm and fuzzy from his compliment. Plus, his jacket smells like him.

"Thanks for coming. I asked Tom to invite you and your friends," Robbie continues with the small talk, obviously a little nervous himself.

"You asked Tom to ask us?" You sound surprised.

Robbie's cheeks turn pink as he looks to the side. "Yeah. I was too nervous," he admits.

"Nervous?" You smile, playing with the zipper of his jacket.

Silence looms over you both for a moment but then Robbie looks at you, his eyes softened. "You're really pretty, y'know. And cool. And funny. And you intimidate me with how smart you are. You're really hard to talk to because I feel like I stumble over my words whenever I'm around you," he chuckles, sounding a little embarrassed.

Your smile widens, feeling giddy by his confession and all your nerves had dissipated. "You're doing a pretty good job at talking to me now," you say.

Robbie grins. "It's the adrenaline. It takes a while to wear off after I preform."

"Well, I like it when you talk to me. You should do it more."

"Noted," he says, and his hands reaches for you, brushing over your pinky. He clears his throat. "What do you think of fish and chips?"

"Yum," you answer, "why?" You're still smiling as you reach for his hand with yours as well. You're practically playing with each other's fingers now. It should be awkward. But it isn't.

"Do you want to go out with me on Saturday? My treat. I'll buy you all the fish and chips you want."

You can't believe this is real. The cool breeze from outside rushes over your cheeks, reminding you that this is real and you nod.

"Yeah, I'd really like that."

[sim0nril3y]

Revenge

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Scenario: I'm sorry for this one, but just a silly little imagine after writing that angst. So, after smacking Simon's bum playfully he decides to find his own revenge which spirals chaotically. Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), playful spanking, oral (f receiving), orgasm denial, canon-typical swearing.

What was he going to prepare for dinner tonight? Simon was standing looking into the vast emptiness of the fridge, the empty shelves mocked him, the lonely jar of marmite smirked and jested whilst he stood there arms crossed, stance wide as if he was going to tackle the appliance any moment to try and find its secrets and hidden compartments.

From behind he heard you shuffling into the kitchen, placing down your long finished mug of tea and approaching him slowly. “Love-” Whack~ A rouge hand struck his butt making him jolt a little in surprise. It hadn’t hurt. The act alone had just shocked him into a stunned silence. From behind you cackled laughing, especially as he turned slowly to finally face you. “What?” You snickered, covering your mouth with your hand.

Those dark eyes of his narrowed, looking at you with a calculative glare, jaw set and muscles wound tight. “There’s nothing in the fridge.” He continued his long abandoned sentence before his rear had been struck. “I’m gonna order a take-away.” He bit out, before stepping around you. Realistically the only thing left on Simon’s mind was revenge.

It was a few evenings later after a steamy showered before bed when you were hanging up some clothes into the cupboard you shared. Now, shared was probably a loose term when it came to the cupboard, as a good portion of it was made up of your pretty dresses, skirts, trousers, blouses and jumpers a whole cascade of shoes beneath. Then shoved to the side was a measly bit of space for Simon’s clothing.

Thwhack! A sudden strike on your own rear sent you whole body hurdling forward into the cupboard, body pressed and clinging to the hanging clothes to keep your unbalanced body upright. “Ow!” You yelped; your voice muffled between the clothes. Turning your face and seeing Simon looming behind you, arms crossed and proud smirk on his face. “What the fuck?” You squeaked. “Just a little payback, love.”

As you leant there, your eyes widened. “For bloody what?!” You huffed, trying to push yourself up. “For smacking your bum like a week ago?!” You growled. “I didn’t send you headfirst into the fridge, Simon and I certainly didn’t smack you that hard…” You vented and this only caused him to chuckle. “It wasn’t that hard-” “It wasn’t soft either. I bet it’ll bruise…”

“Let me check.” The words came out quick and before you knew it Simon was tugging down your leggings and knickers to inspect your rear. “Simon!” You squeaked from inside the cupboard still, hands clinging to the fabric of your clothes, creasing them beneath your clenched fingers. “Simon…” You whimpered softly as you felt him kneel behind you, carefully taking the globes of your arse into his hands and stroking them softly. “You’ll be fine, love…” Simon mentioned, carefully pulling them apart, squeezing them, stroking them before placing a few stray kisses to the struck skin. “Want me to make it up to you, babe?”

From inside the cupboard you nodded, whimpering out a soft. “Yes, please.” “So polite…” Simon murmured, pulling carefully on your hips so that your arse stuck out a little further, placing a few kisses to the backs of your thighs, higher and higher causing you to squeak as his face dipped forward to find your soaked cunt, all pretty and leaking for him. “Fuck…” He growled, wanting to start slow and build up but simply unable to hold back as he got a taste of your wonderful juices. They were addictive to him. Once the first drop touched his tongue Simon craved more and more.

From where you were leaning awkwardly into the closet you could simply only cling to your clothes and accept the laps and presses of his tongue and mouth, moaning loudly as his hand slipped around your body to find your clit, massaging it beneath his fingers in tight circles. “Simon~ Simon~ Ohgod~” You cried in pleasure; it was like the air was thick as his hand smacked down playfully against your arse. “Please. Please. Fuck~”

The cry of his name only spurred him on more. Burying his face into your wonting cunt, growling and grunting as he sort to find your end. “There. There. Don’tstop. Don’t stop.” You panted, your body trembling as your end built and built. A second later Simon tugged away, smacking his hand against your rear and causing you to yelp in surprise. “Si, please. Please. Please… I’m sorry. I’m sorry for smacking your bum. I’m sorry. Please.” Without even having to press you for some sort of apology for your day old lapse in judgement you gifted him one, over and over. God, it was difficult to decide what sounded more pretty your beautiful moans or the sound of you succumbing to his will.

“Good girl. Good girl.” Simon smirked, spitting on your cunt and fucking a few fingers into your cunt, shunting the thick digits deep to find your special spot. “You won’t do it again, will you?” “Never. Neveragain. Never. Never.” You chanted, squirming as your knees knocked together from the sudden invasion. “Never. Promise. Pro-aghg…” The final promise caught in your throat your juices soaked his hand, something which Simon would happily clean up.

“There’s my good girl.” Simon chuckled. “There we go…” He coaxed, rubbing your lower back soothingly to coax you through the overwhelming waves of your orgasm. “Good girl. My good fucking girl-”

Now, if he had been able to hear over the sound of your panting and crying out and moans then he probably could have heard an ominous noise from within the cupboard, however that hadn’t been the case and instead was startled when the beam holding up hangers of clothes up cracked from having you probably hanging off it too as you clung to the clothes. It sent you toppling to the ground, clothes burying you on top of the shoes that lay at the bottom.

For a moment he knelt there completely taken back by your half naked body sticking from the cupboard under all that mess, then he acted and quickly tugged it all out of the way, finding your body beneath. “You okay, babe?” He asked quickly. “I’m so bloody good.” You whimpered; face completely dazed with lust.

Masterlist | Ask | 13-04-2024