#thinking about that barbed cock too

[peachdues]

on that note, I always said I wasn’t going to write yandere content (because personally I would end up dead because I simply could NOT be controlled like that) but something about yandere!Kyojuro is making my coochie flutter so. Yeah. The notes app is open.

[dearbraus]

Monstrous Oddities ࿐

— Neuvillette, Wriothesley, Lyney.

⊹ Details. 18+ minors dni, gn!afab!reader, monster fucking, diphallia (multiple cocks), dragon dicks, double penetration, marking (Neuvi), knotting, doggy style, semi public sex, daddy/sir kink (Wrio), barbed penis, overstimulation, phone sex, pussy whipped Lyney, creampies, unprotected sex, animalistic urges, dragon!neuvi, dogboy!wrio, catboy!lyney general dick headcanons. ⊹ Run time. 1.2k ⊹ Note. This came to me at 2am after reading some other headcanons I previously wrote. Enjoy <3

Dick Headcanons —

꧁ Neuvillette - Two is better than one ꧂

Specifications: 12”, scaled and slightly ribbed, thin tapered heads that’s perfect for kissing your cervix, and full, heavy balls twitch when you suck on them.

❥ Most presumed that aside from his pointed ears and penchant for plain water, that Monsieur Neuvillette was more human than dragon— they’d be incorrect of course but that’s knowledge only you get to relish in. ❥ Beneath his perfectly tailored slacks lay not one but two cocks. The peculiarities don’t end there, however, his cocks are slightly ribbed and scaly in a way that resembles a fish's scales. His cocks are tinged blue near his pelvis but the colouration is lost amongst the neatly trimmed puff of his pearly white pubes that trails up his abdomen. ❥ In spite of his years, Neuvillette is still rather unaccustomed to human convention. It took seeing your shocked expression to realize that most weren’t as well endowed as he was, nor were they likely to have two girthy cocks. So, it takes him a bit to learn how your body reacts to him and just how much you’re able to take. He’s willing to learn, he’s nothing if not dutiful and gentle. ❥ He learns that to take one of his cocks he’ll need to work you open with a couple of his thick fingers first. That is, of course, after he’s warmed you up with his forked, serpentine tongue that nearly engulfs the whole of your aching cunt. And that you’re sure to squirt if grinds his second cock into your throbbing clit as he fucks you. Since taking even one of his cocks is a challenge, more often than not, Neuvillette uses his second cock to stimulate your clit while his mouth is busy sucking and licking the tender skin of your neck and chest. He can’t help it, the need to leave you covered in signs of him is far too strong, that’s why he cums in and on your pussy. ❥ Once you’ve gotten used to the stretch, can take it with ease, and are feeling a little adventurous, Neuvillette doesn’t waste the chance to split you open on both of his cocks. Seeing you so full of him stirs something primal within him. It’s a feeling he doesn’t often allow himself to indulge him but it claws its way out of his chest with you. The urge to remind you that you’re his, and only his gets muddled between kisses to your tear stained cheeks. You’re his perfect pet, you take him so well, and he’ll be sure to remind you.

꧁ Wriothesley - The duke is a dog ꧂

Specifications: 8”, rosy, round bulbous head, girthy, with a thick knot nestled amongst a thatch of unruly, dark curls that drives him wild when you tug on them.

❥ Wriothesley’s sharp canines aren’t the only wolfish things about him. Below his belt resides a truly monstrous cock. You think it’s rather titillating, your mouth waters just at the sight of his fat knot but Wrio was rather weary, he knew it was a bit peculiar and didn’t want to scare you away. Those worries didn’t last too long. ❥ Jerking off was always a bit tiresome for Wrio. His knot ached to inflate inside of a warm, wet hole so his calloused, spit slick hands never satisfied that need. The first time he fucked you, he nearly came after pushing the tip in. Wrio was so sensitive, he hadn’t cum properly in far too long. He nearly tore your silk sheets from how tightly he gripped them as he willed himself to sink his cock a little deeper into your pussy. He wasn’t much a believer in Celestia but he felt like he ascended that first time … and every time after that. ❥ He didn’t knot you until you’d been together for two years. Though you swore you could take, that you wanted to take it, Wrio always worried he’d lose control. It wasn’t a feeling he liked. Wriothesley liked feeling in control, he liked how you willingly submitted to him, hushed cries of “daddy” or “sir” never far from your lips, adoration pooling within the depths of your eyes. But, he was grateful he loosened the reins. ❥ One stress filled evening snowballed into you splayed across his desk at the fortress, your puffy, aching cunt slick and throbbing with need for him on display. You were so wet, moaning so loudly for him, it was almost too easy for him to slip his knot into your weeping hole. Your wanton whimpers were forever burned into his memory as it began to swell inside of you, his rough skinned hands roaming all over your body as his teeth dug into the flesh of your shoulder. Your eyes glazed over and a shudder wracked through your body as he filled your cunt with his seed. He knew then that he spent far too long depriving himself and you. ❥ Wriothesley was gone after that, he just couldn’t go on knowing how sweet you sounded as you squealed and begged for him while filled with his knot and cum. Maybe he was greedy but you loved being his cockdrunk pup. So, it was a win-win.

꧁ Lyney  - He has more tricks up his sleeves ꧂

Specifications: 5”, veiny, sensitive head, equally sensitive barbs, kissable hip bones, and a leaky tip that’s just begging for your kisses.

❥ While his sister Lynette possessed most of the outward cat-like traits that was carried down their lineage, most of Lyney’s feline genetics poked through in his personality and behaviour, except for his cock. His pretty, blush pink cock was barbed near the base. He once read that they were meant to aid mating but he found that they made his cock far too sensitive to touch. He could only bear to lightly graze the tips of his fingers over his shaft most days. More often than not, Lyney came untouched, blowing his load in his underwear from the friction of the fabric alone. ❥ The first time you sucked his cocked, he cried from how good it felt, pushing your head down until you gagged. He didn’t even realise he was doing it, far too blissed out to notice until afterward (to which he spent the next five minutes fawning over you and apologising). Now, Lyney didn’t fancy himself a hedonist but he quickly became addicted to the way you laved your tongue over his barbs, and grazed your teeth over the sensitive flesh. ❥ Lyney became overstimulated every time the two of you fucked. Though, that didn’t stop him from pushing himself past the point of sanity so that you’d cum on his cock. He felt selfish otherwise, and he found nothing more satisfying than bringing you to completion whether it be with his fingers, mouth, cock, or one of the many toys the two of you seemed to amass. So, even if he was on the brink of blacking out from the pleasure, his cock pink and raw, he was going to fuck you were just as far gone as he was. Even if it took hours. ❥ Sometimes he found himself getting hard just thinking about you. The mind was a fickle thing, it too often loved to play tricks. Like making Lyney’s innocent thoughts trickle into passion filled memories that left him aching and needy for you. He’d call you far too late into the night just to hear your voice as ground his palm against the weepy tip of cock, musing how much he missed the feel of your skin against his. He may have been cumbrained and addicted to your sweet cunt, but he was still a romantic.

© all content belongs to dearbraus. do not modify, repost, or redistribute.

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

Prewar!Cooper told Barb that one of his favorite things about her was the fact that she always tries to do the right thing. The Ghoul is entertained by Lucy's "goody two-shoes" thing, at first, but is clearly very deeply impacted by the kindness that she shows him outside the Super Duper Mart.

Cooper Howard obviously likes good girls...corruption kink, anyone?

Prewar!Cooper would be sweet about it, even gentlemanly. He'd be respectful, slowly warming you up to all these ideas that you've never even heard of before. Of course, you trust him implicitly, and you're happy to go where he guides you. He would get a sense of the things you're into, what your boundaries are, but once he knew you well enough, he might start to nudge you in certain directions.

Taking you for a drive, his hand on your thigh slowly slipping higher until he's rubbing you through your underwear as you go along, working you up to an orgasm at a red light in full public view, completely aware that everyone can tell what's happening. Going for a long walk in a nice park and pulling you into the bushes for "a few smooches" that turn into you deep-throating his cock until you almost pass out. Pushing you into poorly soundproofed closets at fancy parties to turn you into a squealing mess on the end of his cock, too loud for others to not hear. It's all so addictive and you're powerless to stop yourself from giving into him wherever and whenever, slowly turning you into a little exhibitionist because he thinks it's hot.

"Oh, I know how much you like this, sweetheart...what if I tried this? Does that feel good? Sure seems like it does. You don't have to be embarrassed. I'll take care of you. You trust me, right, baby doll?"

The Ghoul would be...meaner. He's more the "don't ask for permission; beg for forgiveness" type, but without the begging part. He'd just go for things, watching in almost sadistic glee as your face would morph from shock to disgust to ashamed arousal. You would be able to sense something different in the air, but you never see his dirty tricks coming. Does this stop you from continuing to sleep with him as you trek the West together? Of course not. As much as you might hate him a little (or a lot) for it, he knows exactly what makes you tremble and beg for more, even as your face reddens and you struggle to look at him.

Sliding his tongue back to tease your asshole when he's eating you out like a man starved, laughing wickedly and holding your hands away when you try to stop him because 'That's so gross!', but soon your protests turn to wanton moans. Hell, sliding his thumb into your ass as he fucks you from behind, using the leverage to bounce you harder on his hips, the sensation amazing despite how humiliating it feels. The next time he fucks you that way, you whimper out a little plea for him to do it again. Making you beg him to spit in your mouth as you near your orgasm until he no longer has to prompt you, you simply open your mouth. He gets off on getting you to request (or even beg for) disgusting treatment.

"Oh, did you not like that? With the way this greedy little cunt is reacting, I'd say you liked it. I mean...if you didn't, I suppose I can quit. Hmm? You want me to keep doing it? What a nasty little freak, gettin' off on this. Maybe if you ask pretty, darlin'..."

[gildedkrone]

As long as you're next to me, just the two of us

request from somebody asking for military reader with internalised homophobia. john price x male reader

"You really ought to not blow your cigar smoke onto me, you know?"

The warm embers of spent tobacco, an all too familiar sight in the dark, starry night, and he's smiling, albeit faintly. He takes an audible suck of air, and the embers glow brighter and fade into a dull orange.

"Thought yer used to it by now," Price blows the hints of something scorched gently across your nose and you fan the smoke away with a flick of your hand.

"I don't smoke, John." He blinks and nods to take another chuff of the cigar as you look away then back at him.

He says he knows. Infernally glorious bastard of a captain and he's content with the warm tranquility settled into the space and the cigar is the last thing the mind's got time for. On the rooftop, the stars are ever distant in the cosmos’s grasp and he moves to lay with his back to the railing, almost close enough to touch. But he doesn't come any closer than that and a healthy distance remains between you and him.

"How many years has it been?"

Five. Five years since he appeared in his lieutenant uniform with SAS patches sewn neatly onto the vest and now? Now, he's a captain of a famed task force and chasing a terrorist halfway across the world with a short break in between his ever-growing catalogue of missions. The rank suits him well, suits him and his beard nicely as he grew into the man standing before you.

All's well. If all's well, then why does it feel as if there's a divide between you and him?

"You know," his head angles towards you when the silence fills with murmurs, "I never did congratulate you on your promotion, John."

"Never too late to do so, sweetheart."

"You call everyone that? Bet your lieutenant wouldn't take it well. That mask—"

"Not him." The words are scented with woodsy, "Nobody else gets to be a sweetheart." And he's saying it so sincerely, it’s impossible to doubt the truth and intensity in his words.

"Exceptions? You're not being fair, captain."

He scoffs and you take the time to admire his visage with a subtle lean towards him. The left eyebrow hitches a little, then it falls back to its place and he's smiling warmly as the cigar burns away in crumbling ashes falling to the wind under the pale moonlight.

"How's your love life? Still seeing Sandy?" The sudden change of topic and you cock your head slightly and he grimaces slightly to have felt some sense of chagrin at poking the sore wound in your heart.

"We broke up a month ago." He lowers the cigar, "She just, didn't want to be in a relationship with a military man, you know? All the absences made her mad and she just ... left."

"On a Thursday afternoon."

He listens so attentively; he's reminiscent of the cadets under your care when they first arrive at sergeant bootcamp. A little awestruck and very much eager to learn and get going and you lean in closer for a look at the new-ish scar marring the area above his eyebrows.

"You've gone and hurt yourself again, eh?"

Fingers brush across the region of his face gently as his face is pliant in your hands and tilts with each nudge to facilitate your examination of his new battle scar. Eventually, you release his face and he runs a hand through his scar absentmindedly.

"You datin' again?"

"No such luck. Tinder's trash these days. All you'll ever find are people down to fuck and run. 's not much better on the other dating platforms too."

"Just women?" The parting of your lips and nothing comes out; the words don't come as they should.

"Just women. I-I ... I’ve never considered other men, John."

"Why not?"

It's a moment of confusion—you entertain his queries about manhood and love. What do you say to that? It's a minefield of emotions and memories tangled with barbs and spikes laden with the flags of youth and curiosity shaped into a spitball refusing to be verbalized.

"I don't think another man could ever love me. And ..." The forgotten cigar in his hands dull and the soft cerulean eyes are gently imploring you to continue, "I ... well, it's wrong and I ... don't know if I can do it."

He nods empathetically and you lean back into the railing to find fleeting interest in the moon. How did the conversation morph into this weird mess of clunky and awkward conversations?

"Well, I have a problem when it comes to dating." Oh? Go on, and he does go on.

"I met a man, and I don't know if he fancies me the way I fancy him."

"Really? I'm glad for you, John. What is he like?"

It's cute how his brows furrow slightly when he's in deep concentration and he says—valiant and resplendent. The vigor of the sun, the ferocity of the lion, and the tenacity of the stars.

"Valiant? Resplendent? You must really like him to hold him at such a regard."

"It's not an exaggeration, lieutenant."

Who had managed to capture John's heart to such a degree? You lose interest in the moon to lay the brunt of your attention on him. His eyes dart away into inkiness night then back at you and its kept steady as a sniper's hands in a high-tension scenario.

"Have you tried telling him? About how you feel?"

"You have tips? ‘M not sure quite how to break it to him."

He seems mildly amused by the chuckle and you regale him with strategies and tactics to win over the mystery man Price loves so much. Everything you’ve learnt from the trashy romance novels stashed in your drawers never to be seen any other service personnel. Even if they would never find their place with another man.

"So, a hand grasp and a head tilt, lots of eye contact, and a heartfelt confession? It’s certainly shorter than the list on the web.”

“Mmhm, it’s that simple.”

He asks if you would entertain his request to rehearse it. You humor him and step away from the railing to face him head on. He clears his throat and warmth envelops your hand in a hand shaped like John’s. His body posture is open and inviting, and he’s putting in the effort to treat it seriously.

His hands clasped with yours is so damn warm and fiercely domestic, and his fingers are gentle when they tilt your head upwards slightly. Something in your heart twists slightly at the endearment in his eyes; you’ve been privy to aggression, bloodlust, and anger in them. But not this. Blood hammers in your ears and you keep your face schooled in blasé calm even if his grasp is uncharacteristically soft and yet, harbored the love he had in his being.

“I love you, sweetheart.” The words are painful to hear on ears not meant for them and instincts are warring in your head in tumult.

You cough gently to realign his focus with the moment.

“Yeah, so, that is how you do it, John.”

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“That’s what you would say that to the man you love so much.”

His throat swallows harshly and his hand remains on your chin. He eyes search for something, and he says it again.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

What is he doing? He cuts you off before you can start.

“I’m saying it to the man I love.”

Whiplash. Whiplash at the revelation as your lips part to reveal hollow words and empty reconciliation of the revelation and your thoughts. No. This—

“I mean it. Whole heartedly. Fully.”

“John … I—I can’t love you, not—”

“I’ll wait. As long as it takes.”

“Why? Why the fuck would you choose me? Of all the men and women in the world and you’ve gone and loved the one person who can’t give you anything! John, why?”

His hands are still clasped around yours and laced around your runaway heart. Don’t leave.

“Because it’s what the heart wants, love.” He tugs you in closer and in a moment of stupor, you feel the warmth emanating from him against the chilly night.

“It’s wrong—” And by god, it’s so fucking hard to tell him why it’s wrong when he’s looking at you like that. All worried and desperate to alleviate whatever you were feeling.

“I don’t want to be the fool who dies with a million regrets. And this is fixing it.”

He’s so close but he’s waiting for permission to breach the last barrier of that defensive wall built around the wastelands of the heart. He wipes away the tears which had formed, and soft lips are all you can feel when he closes the gap. Plush, soft lips press against yours and his embrace is all encompassing even as your eyes are shut to close out the world. He comes into view when warmth of his lips disappears and shakes rattle your body in his arms.

“I’ll be here for as long as you want me, sweetheart.”

He means it.

“’m not leaving, unless you tell me to.”

“John, I … I don’t know what to do.”

“We’ll figure it out together. Me and you, we will find our way as a unit. Together, we’ll do it together.”

He is deadly serious again. “If you tell me to leave, I’ll leave.”

“No … I—I don’t want you to leave. I’m so fucking scared, John.”

“I’m here.” He is here. His hands on your back are proof of his existence in a world bending into a pinpoint of focus that is only John and his features and his exhales on your cheeks. What were you supposed to say? Or do?

There’s no need to do anything.

And maybe, just maybe, that is enough of a promise for you that everything is going to be ok—if it's John, and this was fine, more than fine. Your nod is what John needed to bring your foreheads together.

“Thanks fer trusting me, love.”

The hints of tobacco smoke don’t smell as acrid as they did a while ago and the night isn’t so cold anymore. Not when he wears his heart on his sleeves and draped over you in the moonlight.

Do not edit, reupload or translate my works without prior consent || masterlist

[rae-writes]

sneak peek

nb!Barbatos x reader

wc : 0.6k

warnings : nsfw, noncon(?) exhibitionism, voyeurism

synopsis : he knew there was something about you...

Barbatos was forbidden to use his powers unless given permission by Lord Diavolo. 

“a-ah! s’too much!” 

However, what the young master doesn’t know won't hurt him. 

See, there was always something about you that bugged Barbatos. Whether it be the way you miraculously knew how to clean things to his particular satisfaction, or the odd chance you already knew Diavolo didn’t like pickles, or maybe it was the way you were so successful in your job as the brothers’ attendant- knowing how to cater to each of them perfectly- without having met them before hand. 

No matter the case, Barbatos was more curious than he’d ever been, and he thought it wouldn’t hurt to take a peek. 

A peek into the future- into your future- only to witness you centuries down the road with a much older them. 

To witness the closeness you shared with each of the brothers, then with the Angels, and then the lord himself, and especially with him. 

He was so captivated with it, in fact, that he continued to take further peeks into what would become- and what you’d already lived through. 

Barbatos witnessed himself falling for you— it clouded his judgment so much, he kept digging deeper and deeper into the moments you’d shared with him until— 

“Too much? Come now, Mc, don’t tell me you can’t take it anymore? We’ve barely even begun.” 

His cock pressed further inside, gloved hands gripping you tighter before slamming you down over him with ease. The moan you let out was high-pitched, but choked, thanks to his tail wrapping itself around your throat. 

“Barbatos!” 

Present Barbatos had just torn off his own glove with his teeth, using the other hand to yank down his pants with a desperation he doesn’t think he’s ever felt. 

A shudder wracked through him when he took a hold of his cock, fisting it to match how tight you might’ve been; it sent a irritating heat through him- how he couldn’t feel any of it, only watch as his future self got to fuck you. 

“Oh? What a sweet sound…I suppose you’d like me to hit this spot again, then?” A chuckle left him at the whimper you responded with, tail moving to bring your face closer to his, “Pretty human…and all mine.” 

He thinks back to the time his heat had hit and he’d walked right into you on the way to his room. How your eyes darkened and darted downwards before quickly closing as you excused yourself and brushed past him. You must’ve known, then; you must’ve helped him out with it before. 

Just the thought of that makes Barbatos move his hand faster, hips jerking up embarrassingly to meet his frantic movements. His lips had parted in almost inaudible moans, getting a bit louder each time his thumb swiped over the slit of his cock. 

“You are mine, aren’t you? All spread out for me like this, letting me of all demons defile you. Are you going to let me cum inside of you as well?” 

His head hits the wall with a thud, mouth dropping to let out an unrestrained moan, “fuck!” as he tightened his fingers around himself. 

“Y-yes, yes m’yours, please cum inside me, please, please, please— wan’ it Barb, wanna feel it- fuck- I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours!” 

His cock twitched one time, two times, and a third before he was cumming with a strangled groan in the back of his throat. The force Barbatos bit his lip to silence himself made a copper tang flood his mouth and dribble past his chin, but when he looked at the white mess covering his hand (and the floor), it just made the high even better. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, good human, my human, only mine— fuck, Mc, cumming-!” 

Jade hues eyed the way you keened when his future self spilled inside of you, moaning with you when he pulled out and saw it slowly dripping past your hole.

There was something about you, alright. 

Something he wanted to participate in himself.

[honeydazai]

⋆·˚ ༘ * “ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴘ”

feat.: Scaramouche, Childe, Diluc, Kaeya, Zhongli, Itto, Tighnari, Xiao, Al Haitham

content: nsfw, dub con, size difference, dacryphilia, degradation, choking, praise, Itto has a knot and barbs on his cock, Zhongli has two dicks | comments & reblogs appreciated!

Honestly, SCARAMOUCHE doesn't get why you think he'd listen to your ridiculous command. Yeah, you're tired, but surely not too tired to let him fuck you, right? He hums in acknowledgement when you tell him to use just the tip; though, moments later, he thrusts into you fully, and the way you cry out sharply and arch your back at the unexpected stretch immer makes it worth it.

Besides, you're plenty wet. Your cunt is all but throbbing as you clench around him with each hard thrust, and his smirk is cruel while he teases you for ever thinking he'd edge himself like that. You're unable to answer, though he guesses the high-pitched moans and mewls you let out say plenty on their own.

“Hah, look at you — so damn needy. You're mewling like a bitch in heat. Did you seriously believe I'd torture myself like that? Perhaps it's time I teach you who's in charge again, hm?"

It's CHILDE who all but begs you to let him take you; he knows you're tired, he knows, and he'll just put the tip in, alright, baby? You give in eventually, of course you do, and Childe quickly presses gentle kisses to your lips as he sinks into you, only the tip of his dick enveloped by your tight heat. He groans a 'thank you' against your mouth while his thumb draws lazy circles around your throbbing clit.

Still, it's your own fault for falling for sweet words so easily, so naively. He didn't plan on breaking his own promise this easily, but you feel so good, he has no choice but to eventually snap his hips forward until he's all the way inside of you. Even when you whimper in complaint, he simply shushes you with gentle praise and a smile that's too wide, too amused to match the muttered 'good girl'.

“Oh, that's good. Fuck, you're so tight, baby; feels damn heavenly. Good girl, you take my dick so well, don't you? And you were so intent on teasing me — hah, and now you're mewling for my cock. That's cute."

DILUC groans when your tight heat squeezes around the flushed head of his dick, wet walls pulsing, and his eyebrows twitch into a frown of pure concentration as he forces himself to not push further into you. It's nothing but agony, especially with how prettily you moan and whine, but if there's something he won't do, it's betray your trust.

His legs tremble the slightest bit as he meets your gaze, his own expression strained when your wet walls pulse around him, all but begging him to fuck you properly. In the end, he can't help but ask for your permission — and, luckily, you're not intent on making him suffer any longer. He moans into the kiss while pushing into you, the pace with which he thrusts into you uncharacteristically impatient and fast; though it's not like you mind it.

“Love, please — I doubt I can keep this up much longer. It's quite literally torture. What do you say, dear? Are you going to let me take you properly?"

KAEYA'S smile is sly as he nods, the promise he makes about not taking you fully, merely letting you warm his cockhead, falling from his lips as easily as the affectionate pet names he calls you. And, well, while he behaves for quite a while, it only gets increasingly difficult with the way your wet walls pulse around him, seemingly all but trying to pull him in.

It wasn't his intention to go against your explicit wishes, but it's nature's call; you both moan when he suddenly bottoms out inside of you, spearing you open fully, and he's quick to murmur an apology against your mouth. He's not a bad guy; he's in the middle of pulling out when you wrap your thighs around his waist, effectively keeping him from doing so. Of course, he can't pass up on the chance to tease you for your change in mind while he pounds into you.

“My, my, look at you. Didn't you just say you were too exhausted to take all of me? It's only been a few minutes and you've changed your mind already. You're adorable when you're this needy, darl."

While ZHONGLI'S lips twitch downwards at your words — you'll let him make love to you, under one condition —, he's quick to agree nonetheless. It comes as no surprise that he keeps the promise; contracts are never to be broken, after all. Even only the tip of his dick spreads you wide open and you whimper so prettily when he rolls his hips forward with gentle thrusts, never pushing further into you.

What really isn't his fault, however, is the way his second cock throbs where it's resting between your wet folds, drooling precum onto your skin and occasionally nudging against your aching clit. With the additional stimulation, it's no surprise you're soon begging him to make you cum on all of his dick — though he might tease you just a bit longer.

“Now you're asking me to take you properly? If I recall correctly, you weren't interested in this mere moments ago. Hah, I'm not quite convinced. Why don't you try begging for it, dear?"

While ITTO initially agrees eagerly to your conditions — you're still sore, but you don't mind warming only the tip of his dick —, he quickly realises that this is nothing but sweet, sweet torture. Sure, he thought any rule was worth getting to fuck you at all, but your cunt pulses around the fat tip and you're moaning because of his sheer size, the head of his dick as wide as three to four of your own fingers.

He tries to keep his promise, he really does, but — well, can you really blame Oni instincts? Soon enough, he's thrusting into you fully, making you mewl as his barbed dick spreads you open wide. He's babbling mindless apologies between his low grunts and groans of pleasure, especially when his knot stretches you even wider, but you seem too far gone to really understand his words anyway.

“Fuck, babe—, 'm sorry, didn't mean to. Ah, Archons, you feel so damn good—, you're so tight, fuck, baby—"

TIGHNARI isn't fond of this new idea you had; fucking you with only the tip seems both impractical and simply dumb, but you're terribly insistent, which is why he soon pushes the head of his dick into you, a moan leaving both of your lips at how tight you are. While the thought of simply pushing too far in crosses his mind, he doesn't follow through with it — but, even though he'll let you warm the head of his cock for as long as you like, he won't be happy about it.

He groans and mumbles to himself in annoyance, his fingers digging into your hips and his ears twitching with disdain. By the time you finally allow him to push in all the way, he leans up to seemingly press a kiss to your lips, only to instead scoff and tell you it's taken you long enough to finally stop teasing.

“Good choice, love. My patience isn't endless, though it might appear otherwise. I believe I'll just give you a taste of your own medicine if you pull this kind of trick again. How does getting edged for hours sound?"

XIAO'S eyebrows twitch into a frown when he slowly but surely fucks the tip of his dick in and out of you, wet squelching noises accompanying his every movement. Despite the occasional soft moans that fall from his lips, it's obvious he's not particularly happy about his predicament; your wet walls hug his cockhead so perfectly, and even though he'd give everything to feel you clench around the full length of his dick, he keeps the promise of not urging you to take more.

It's because of that determination that you're quick to tell him it's alright, that you want him to fuck you and, well, who would Xiao be to deny you?

“You feel so fucking good, ah—, Archons, you're tight. Fuck—, can't wait to have you cumming around my cock. You're such a good girl, taking me so well—"

ALHAITHAM huffs a laugh against your lips when you tell him to only use the tip. He quickly agrees; sure, sure, you're tired, he gets it, though he's not sure just how truthful you were being — the way your walls pulse around his cock doesn't seem very exhausted to him. His thumb rubs over your aching clit, making you whine and whimper — distracting you.

A smirk tugs at the corners of his lips when you cry out at a sudden hard thrust; your back arches off the bed when he bottoms out inside of you. It's so unexpected you barely have time to complain and, whenever you try to scold him, his hand closes around your throat and squeezes the slightest bit; a threat more than anything else. Besides, you get even more wet whenever he does it.

“Oh, that's cute, darling. Flustered is a good look on you. Seems you're quite into me choking you, hm? Hah, and just when I think you can't possibly be more of a slut."

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[tropes-and-tales]

Don't Gloat

(From the "Shut Up" kiss starter prompts, found here)

CW:  Richie being Richie, swearing, mild violence (a misunderstanding), smut (PiV, protected). 18+ only.

Word Count:  7289

AN:  Requested by an anonymous person, place, or thing!

AN2: Drabble? I don't know her, apparently.

Your first real fight is over chicken.

You squabble, pretty much from day one.  Carmy hires you to help in the kitchen, and Richie immediately takes an intense dislike to you.  Adding you upsets the delicate ecosystem of The Beef.  You are unnecessary.  Richie makes it known on your first day.

“Don’t get comfortable,” he warns an hour into service.  “Cousin doesn’t run things.”

“Seems like he does,” you shoot back.

“I’m the manager here.”

Here is where the dislike really starts.  Richie is rude and sarcastic, but you’re a chameleon.  You can shift and change your demeanor to match what someone is giving you, so when Richie is rude and sarcastic to you, you respond in kind.

You call him “Mister Manager” in a tone dripping with sarcasm, and by the end of that first shift, Richie completely hates you.

The feeling is mutual by the end of your second shift.

At first, you just squabble.  You trade barbs and insults.  When Richie throws a temper tantrum over Carmy’s organization of the spices, you pout and turn to Ibra and posit that Richie is grumpy because he needs a juice box and a nap.  Which makes Ibra cock his head at you.  He speaks English impeccably, but sometimes he misses the finer nuances of language like sarcasm. 

“I do not think we have juice boxes here,” Ibra says, and Tina swats him as she walks past.

“She’s being sarcastic, you old bitch,” she tells him.

The allusion to Richie being a toddler isn’t far off.  He acts childish all the time.  He flings cookware around when he’s having a tantrum.  He swears, he throws out middle fingers like an angry pre-teen. 

He hides your expensive Henckles knives.  He turns the heat up or down when your back is turned.  Once, he parks you in behind The Beef, and when you go to leave, he’s nowhere to be found—you end up doing a thirty-six point turn, a fraction at a time, before you can properly pull out and drive away.

But your first real fight is over chicken.

The meat delivery is wrong one day.  You’re short on beef, but there’s five whole chickens, and Carmy throws up his hands and tells you to come up with something.

So you do. 

You roast them low and slow so they stay tender, and you’re putting the finishing touches on the sauce—an adobo-based barbeque that’s the perfect blend of tangy and smoky—when Richie strolls in.  He’s in his stupid leather jacket and ridiculous blue track pants, and he announces himself with his usual grinning, “what’s up, you fucking lizards?”

Sweeps and Manny call out their hellos, but Richie ignores them.  He’s already super-focused on you…and the sauce you’re stirring over a low heat.

“What the fuck is that?” he asks.  He stands too close to you, dips his head close to the pot, and takes a loud sniff of it.  Then rears back with a grimace, like you’re simmering a pot of shit and not a finely balanced sauce for your roasting chickens.

“It’s barbeque sauce.  For the chicken.”

“What fucking chicken?”

“Meat delivery was fucked up,” Carmy calls across the kitchen. 

Richie scoffs and turns to Carmy, and he gestures at you and your sauce.  “No offence, Cousin, but the place is called ‘The Beef.’”

“No offence, Cousin, but fuck off,” Carmy replies.

“Heaven forbid we try something new,” you add.  You snap the heat off and settle a lid over the pot to allow the flavors time to mellow together.  Once the chicken is done, you’ll shred it and mix it in.  You have a red cabbage slaw planned for it, and thin slices of sharp cheddar to round it out.  You turn towards the refrigerator, but Richie blocks your path.

“Nothing Italian about whatever the fuck that is.”  He glares down at you; he’s half a head taller than you, but he has a way of puffing out his chest like a bantam rooster spoiling for a fight.

Maybe other people are cowed by his posturing, but you’re unimpressed and not scared at all.

“It’s about as Italian as ‘Jerimovich.’”

His chest puffs out more, and he takes a half step closer to you.  This close, you can smell the cigarette smoke that clings to him, the old man cologne he splashes on with a heavy hand, the subtler scent of laundry detergent. 

“People come here every day and get the same thing,” he says.  “Same order every fuckin’ day.  No one is gonna order whatever fancy Noma bullshit you’re trying to pull out of your ass.”

You take a half step up to him and puff out your chest, and it makes Richie falter for a moment.  He leans back, just a fraction, but you note the movement and smirk up at him.  You reach out and poke him in the sternum with a forefinger, driving home each point.

“One, this isn’t Noma bullshit.  It’s literally slow-roasted chicken.  Two, it’s a pretty simple sauce.  Maybe it seems fancy to you because it’s more challenging to your palate than chicken nuggets.  Three, some customers might appreciate a change in their usual lunch order.  Not everyone is so resistant to change, Cousin.”

Your use of the familiar nickname makes his nostrils flare and his eyes widen in anger.  “I’m not your fucking Cousin.”

“Sure you are, Cousin.”

“Stop it.”

“I’ll save you a sandwich, Cousin.”  The thought occurs to you that you’re being childish now, that Richie has brought out some immature part of you, and you think it’s kinda fun, being a juvenile brat at work and leaning into the fight.

“Fucking stop it.”

“Stop what, Cousin?”

He turns away from you so quick, it makes you blink in surprise.  “Fucking bitch,” he mutters to himself, but he’s striding across the kitchen towards the office, and he’s calling for Carmy, so you follow at his heels and call for Carmy too.

“Yo, Cousin, can you fucking fire her already?  Jesus fucking Christ, I—” he starts, but you cut him off, mimic his growling voice and Chicago accent.

“Yo, Carmy, when are we gonna fire Richie already?  I mean, the place is changing—”

It makes Richie go fully nuclear.  The mention of change makes him apoplectic.  He turns and crowds you against the door jamb, and he gets right in your face:  so close that you can see his eyes aren’t completely blue—they are flecked with grey, like bits of mica in pavement.  You’re startled for a moment, surprised to find that his eyes are beautiful, but you obviously don’t say anything because he’s snarling in your face.

“Fuck you!” he spits out, and he points a finger inches from your face.  “Fuck you!  Nothin’ is changin’ here!  Nothin’ needs to change!”

And then he gives you his patented Richie double-chin flick, and he mutters some Italian insult you don’t know, and he’s marching through the kitchen to leave.

Not before he sweeps your mise en place off the counter, sending thin-sliced cabbage and vinegar flying.

Carmy stares at you with a look that is purely beleaguered.  He sighs, he scrubs his face with his hands, and he runs them through his hair before he sighs again.

“Whatever you and Richie have going on?  Squash that shit, Chef.”

You nod, embarrassed at rising—or sinking—to Richie’s childishness.  “Yes, Chef,” you reply.

-----

“Squashing it” mostly means that you and Richie only fight when Carmy isn’t within earshot.

Your fighting still entails getting in each other’s faces.  It still means you insult each other, albeit more quietly.  You hiss insults at him, he grumbles them back.  You part when Carmy shows up, and you each stew in your separate corners and wait for the next round.

You start to suss out where the limits are.  You insult him as a father one single time, and the flash of hurt on his face makes you hold up your hands in a truce and apologize. 

He insults you once as a woman with daddy issues, and the words hit you like a punch to the gut.  You did grow up without a father—he died when you were six, and your only memories of him are full of pain from the stomach cancer that slowly killed him.  But you must show the hurt on your face too because Richie takes a step backwards away from you, stammers out an apology too.

All told, once you know each other’s hard limits, you actually fight pretty nicely, and if anyone notices it, no one says anything.

-----

Sunday nights are a good time to come in to The Beef and set yourself up for the week.  You work it out with Carmy because it gives him a break and gives you a few more hours.  You enjoy the time there with the restaurant being closed—you blast your music, you sing along at the top of your lungs as you rotate stock, make detailed shopping lists for Carmy, and make sure everything is clean.

If one thing infuriates you, it’s the way certain national media outlets focus on Chicago as a cesspool of violence.  But it is a large city, and violence does happen, so when you’re in the basement of The Beef and hear the beep of the alarm system as it is deactivated, you immediately feel ice cold all over.  The alarm system, Ibra told you once, is easily overcome, and The Beef has been robbed before.

You glance around and see that you’re trapped, unless you want to rush up the steps (not advisable) or shimmy out a tiny window at street level (also not advisable).  There’s nothing in the way of weapons in the basement either, so you arm yourself with a half-burnt cookie sheet and tremble as you listen to the heavy tread above you.

Maybe they’ll just trash the place and leave.  There’s nothing worth stealing, unless they want to wheel out the massive, ancient Hobart.  Maybe they’ll get into Marcus’s stash of good vanilla.  Maybe they’ll—

Maybe they’ll make their way to the top of the stairs.  Maybe they’ll pause there and start walking down to where you wait.  You try not to breathe too loud, but your heart is hammering in your chest, your pulse is in your ears, and you’re flooded with adrenaline as the shoes of your would-be assailant come into view.

You don’t hear Richie’s voice when he calls out your name.  You’re too panicked.  You don’t hear him, and you don’t even register him when he rounds the corner—he’s in his usual track pants and leather jacket—because you’re fully in fight-or-flight mode…and independent of your will, your body chooses fight.

“Fuck you!” you scream, and you swing the cookie sheet directly at his head with all the force you can muster.  Your assailant stumbles backwards with a cry of pain, and you drop the pan and try to scramble past him, but you trip over his foot in your panic and fall hard, cracking your shinbone against the lowest step.

If you ever idly wondered how you’d react in a real life-or-death scenario, here is your answer:  you scream and scream, and you clutch one hand to your throbbing shin but flail your other hand at the person reaching for you, and it’s not until you smell him—the familiar cigarette/old man cologne smell—that your panic ebbs a little.

And then you see those blue eyes flecked with grey, and even if Richie is your enemy at work, he’s never really been an enemy in the true sense of the word.  The relief that you aren’t about to be raped or murdered floods you so suddenly that you burst into tears. 

And then you hug him, your arms so tight around his middle that he breathes out a sharp oof, but then he wraps one arm around your trembling form while the other clutches his bleeding nose in an attempt to staunch the blood.

“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” he asks.  His voice is thick and nasally, but there’s a hint of amusement to it.

“Thought you were an intruder.”  You release him from your hold, and you will yourself to stop shaking. 

“Carmy.”  He shakes his head.  “Guess Food and Wine’s Best New Asshole didn’t tell you I was coming by.”

“He did not.”

Richie reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wrinkled napkin.  He presses it to his nose and winces, and your panic is replaced by shame.  You’ll never live this down, you realize.  Richie is going to tell everyone first thing tomorrow, and he’ll add his usual Richie flourishes to make your screams more shrill, your flailing more erratic in the retelling.

His nose stops bleeding, and he checks it tentatively.  He prods at the swollen skin, red that is going to bruise by morning.  He fixes you with a curious look.

“You hit harder than I would have thought.”

“I play softball.”

“Where?”

“Lincoln Park.  At the North Avenue fields.”

He huffs at that.  Clears his throat.  “Yeah, my daughter has t-ball there.”

Your panic is gone now, and you feel more like yourself.  Your leg throbs at where you banged it, and it will be bruised by morning like Richie’s face.  You limp over to the big table and gather up your coat and purse.

“Don’t do that,” you tell Richie.

“Do what?”

“Don’t…whatever.  Talk to me nice.  Tell me about your daughter.  Don’t do that.”

He snorts and says, “why the fuck not?”

“Because we’re not friends, and you scared the shit out of me, and now I’m all keyed up and just want to get home instead of having an impromptu bonding session with the one guy at The Beef who truly, honesty hates me.”

“Alright, fine.  You’re a fucking head-case to freak out the way you did, and I think you broke my fucking nose.  Better?”

It startles a laugh out of you, and your laughter makes Richie grin.  It’s shy, and he ducks his head, but you catch it all the same.

He clears his throat again, then asks if you drove there.  You tell him no—you had a premium parking spot on your street, so you took the L.  He nods at that, and he seems to be thinking through something, so you pull on your coat and sling your bag over your shoulder and wait for him to say something.

“Let me drive you home, at least, “he finally offers.  “You’re all sorts of fucked up.”

“I’m fine.”

“The hell you are.  Someone looks at you wrong on the train, gonna catch an assault charge.”

“You’d love to see me in prison,” you reply.  “Out of your way.  No one left to defiantly make a delicious chicken sandwich special and destroy the system here.”

“Asshole.”  He shakes his head, then gestures for you to take the stairs ahead of him.  “I’m driving you home.  Let’s go.”

You can’t admit that a ride sounds fantastic.  You do feel keyed up, anxious and twitchy, and even if it’s Richie, you’re grateful for the offer.

Even so, as you limp upstairs, the pain in your leg makes it easier to admit to him.  You turn as he resets the alarm, and you thank him, softly.

“Yeah, fine.  Whatever.”  He points at his car, then grumbles, “c’mon already.”

-----

Somehow, it becomes a thing.

Sunday evenings become yours and Richie’s thing.  The work should go twice as fast, but Richie doesn’t work so much as… not work.  He leans in the doorway of the walk-in as you take inventory, he perches on the counter as you make giardiniera for the next day.  He sits in the office as you write out the order list for Carmy, and he gripes about how long you’re taking, how he has better things to do.

If that were true, why does he spend every Sunday with you?  You doubt Food and Wine’s Best New Asshole told him to, yet he shows up every week and complains the entire time.  He complains the entire drive to your place, and when you thank him for the ride, he either flips you off or makes a jacking-off motion with his hand before he peels away from your curb.

“You almost done?” he asks now.  “Got shit to do.”

“You don’t have shit to do.”  You check the takings from last week, do a quick calculation in the margin of the print-out.  “If you did, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you.”

“Why, you afraid I might introduce a dish that isn’t entirely Italian-American approved?”

He grumbles, “nothin’ needs to change.  Menu’s fine the way it is.”

“You really don’t have to stay, Richie.  I can handle myself.”

“Bullshit you can.”  He leans forward, taps the side of his nose.  “You handle yourself so well, you dislocated my fucking nose.”

“And it gave your face some character,” you retort.

“What’s wrong with my face?”

You glance at him, roll your eyes.  “Aside from the fact it’s always in my face, glaring or stirring up shit?  Nothing.”

He leans back in his chair again and sighs.  “I don’t stir up shit.”

“You do.”

“Don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I fucking don’t.”

“You talk way too much, Richard.”

“Don’t call me fucking Richard.  You sound like my asshole mother-in-law.”  He pauses, then amends it to, “my former asshole mother-in-law.”

A long beat of silence passes.  You calculate the meat order, the vegetables, the shelf stable stuff.  You balance out the order against where there’s already overdue bills—Carmy is juggling the vendors as best he can, and you try to give him relief where you can—

“Done yet?”

“Nope.”  You cross out the one line for the produce vendor, split it between two vendors.  “What are you in such a hurry for?”

“Told you.  I got stuff to do.”

You glance over at him.  He does seem more keyed up.  His leg bounces up and down, and he wrings his hands in his lap. 

“What sort of stuff?” you ask.

He mumbles his answer, and you miss it at first.  When you arch an eyebrow at him, he repeats it.  An embarrassed, “got a date.”

You pause in your writing and turn to face him.  Fak told you once about Richie’s imploded marriage, and he had heavily implied that Richie was still pining for his ex-wife.  “A date?” 

He shrugs.  “Kind of a date.”

“What’s kind of a date?”

Another shrug, and he fixes his gaze to the dirty tile floor.  “We went out last week, and we talked about grabbing a drink tonight.  I was gonna text her after I drop you off.”

“Sounds like a regular date to me.”

He lifts his hands in a gesture of helplessness, then lets them fall again.  “I dunno.  Wasn’t really feeling it, you know?”

You turn completely to face him, your list forgotten.  “Then why agree to a second date?”

Another shrug, a sheepish lift and fall of his shoulders.  The two of you are toeing the line of near-friendship, your usual squabbling turning into an honest-to-god friendly chat, but maybe Richie doesn’t have any confidants in his life, because he sighs, then mutters about how she seemed cold, how she wasn’t charmed by his Bill Murray voicemail greeting story, but how he thought he should try anyway—

“Richie, I’m not your gal pal in a rom-com, but if you aren’t feeling it, don’t do it.  Jesus, that’s just common sense.”

He fixes you with a glare.  “Oh, I’m sorry.  I didn’t realize you were a goddamned relationship expert.”

“It’s common sense.”

“When was the last time you went on a date?”

You bristle at the question.  Your love life is about as dead as The Beef’s commercial credit, but Richie doesn’t need to know that.  But you hesitate long enough that he can guess, and he laughs at you, and you bristle more.

“I knew it!”  He points at you, and you swat at his hand until he lowers it.  “You give off this whole ‘hasn’t been laid in a long time’ vibe.”

You turn away from him and bend your head back to your ordering list.  “Shut up,” you mumble.

“All those prissy little dishes you add to the menu.  You’re all wound up.  It makes sense.”

“My culinary excellence has nothing to do with my love life or lack thereof.”  You hope your tone is even and nonchalant, but you fear it comes out as defensive.  Which it must, because Richie holds up his hands again.

“No judgement.  It’s tough out there.  I get it.”

You groan and turn away from him, twisting yourself to get his smirking face out of your peripheral.  “You should leave.  Go get ready for your kind-of date.”

“Nah.”

“Seriously, you can go.”

“Nah.”  You hear his deep breath, then a beat later, he continues.

“If you ever want to blow off some steam, we could…”  He trails off, but his intent is clear, and you feel a prickly heat break out across your skin. 

“…shut up, Richie.”

You turn a little and he reappears in your peripherals.  He presses his hands together in a prayer position, then presses his fingertips near his mouth in an expression of thoughtfulness. 

“Shut up, Richie isn’t no, Richie.”

“It’s most certainly no, Richie.”

“Look at me.”

“I gotta finish this list and send it to Carmy—”

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

You can’t.  You stare at your handwriting—the 50 pounds of cake flour Marcus needs—and you feel yourself heating up at the sudden image of you and Richie—no, you shove the mental image away, shake your head to clear it, and the man notices all of it.

“Why can’t you look at me?” he asks, and his voice is soft, low.  A graveled rumble, roughened by the cigarettes he chain-smokes when he’s not inside, and you don’t know if it really has been that long, but it’s a step-progression of reactions in your body.  The prickle of heat along your skin, the way your skin feels too tight.  The way your mouth feels too dry all of a sudden.

The strong, traitorous pulse of desire between your legs.  Fuck.

“Wouldn’t have to mean anything,” he continues with that low voice.  “No one would have to know.”

“Shut up, Richie.”

“Still not hearing a no, sweetheart.”

You breathe in deeply through your nose, then turn to face him squarely.  You look him right in his eyes—those bright blue eyes, flecked with grey, beautiful—and say, “No, Richie.”

He stares back at you, and a smile slowly unfurls across his face.  A real smile, not his usual shit-eating grin or smarmy smirk.  A real smile that, paired with his gorgeous eyes, makes his face transform into something beautiful.  It’s like he’s lifted his mask for a moment and is showing you who he really is.

“You’re tempted.”  He sounds in awe of the revelation, and he leans back against the wall.  “Holy shit, you’re really tempted by it.”

“No, I’m—”

“Bullshit,” he cuts you off.  “You are.”  His smile stays fixed on his face, and he shakes his head.  “Holy shit, sweetheart.”

You grumble out the weakest rebuttal, but he only laughs and shakes his head again, and the last half hour is passed in uncomfortable silence:  you as you email the shopping list to Carmy with hands you will into steadiness, and Richie as he grins at you and chuckles to himself.

Of course he drives you home, just as he always does.

And of course he parks his car and comes up to your apartment when you invite him up, which is a first.

*****

A therapist would have a lifetime of secure business if Richie ever decided to pursue therapy for himself.  Not that he would—feelings are bullshit, and life is tough all over—but if he did…there’d be a lot of deep shit to mine.

At the core of him, Richie is desperately insecure.  He had a dicey childhood, and he glommed on the Berzatto family to make up for his own family’s shortcomings.  He had Tiff, for a glorious while, then lost her.  He has his daughter, but only part-time.  He lost Mikey, the nearest thing to a brother, and now he’s slowly losing The Beef as it becomes something more than a sandwich shop.

No wonder he feels lost all the time.  No wonder he lashes out and hurts those closest to him.

No wonder he’s been riding your ass for months, trying to get you to quit even as his initial dislike has mellowed out to acceptance and then to…something else he won’t name.

He can’t lie to himself:  that night in the basement shifted things.  Maybe you concussed him along with the dislocated nose.  Maybe he has slight brain damage.  He can’t account for it any other way, how seeing you so terrified caused a sea-change in him.  How feeling your arms around him, clinging to him and trembling so hard, softened him towards you.

He won’t name it.  He won’t even think it.  The most he’ll admit is, “maybe I don’t completely hate her.”

Which somehow turns into this moment.  The two of you awkwardly standing in your entryway, unsure if the other is bluffing, unsure if the other is serious.  There’s too much bad blood in your shared past, and you each are expecting the other to say “sike!,” to turn it into a humiliating story to share in the morning with the crew.

You’re both wrong. 

“So, uh, nice place.”  He looks around your apartment and rubs the back of his neck.  “You got a lot of books.”

“I like to read.”

“Yeah.  Nice.”  He takes a few steps deeper into your place, and he studies the titles on the nearest bookshelf.  “Stephen King.  Clive Barker.  You like the spooky shit, huh?”

“Nothing as scary as being ambushed in the basement at night by you.”

He snorts, shakes his head.  As he’s softened towards you, your teasing has gotten gentler too.  You’ve always rose to meet his energy, and now that he’s not actively despising you (he won’t name it, he will not), you aren’t actively despising him.

“Nothing as scary as seeing a giant fucking sheet pan flying at your face—”

You cut him off.  “Okay, Richie.  Enough.”

“I’m just saying—”

“Enough words.  More action.”  You face him and lift your eyebrows challengingly.  “Unless this was all a ruse.”

He shakes his head.

“Unless this is just a prank to embarrass me later.”

He shakes his head again, and he flexes his hands along his sides.  He’s itching to reach out and touch you—he remembers the feel of you in his arms, the way you tucked so perfectly against him when you were scared.  You had been relieved to see it had been him; you had felt safe enough to reach for him, and he’s been chasing that high ever since.  A therapist would make short work of this moment, but Richie wants to feel important to you again.  He wants to feel like you need him to protect you, to shelter you.  He wants to feel like a man, needed, necessary—

You’re talking but he doesn’t register the words.  Instead, he reaches for you, pulls you to him, and when you look up at him in surprise, he dips his head and kisses you.

It’s brutal at first.  He’s out of practice.  He’s certainly never kissed someone like you—someone so infuriatingly challenging—and he mashes his lips too hard against yours, can feel your wince as you struggle to kiss him back.  So he breaks the kiss and tries again, much more carefully, and it’s so much better:  the softness of your lips, the quiet moan you give as you kiss him back.

Maybe you need it bad, but he needs it just as bad, and when he considers why he does, he pushes the thought away completely.  Because if he thinks on it too much in this moment, if he thinks on how good it feels, the way you tug at his clothes—eager but shy, your hands steady but your eyes unable to meet his—he’d have to face an uncomfortable truth.

Still, he needs to see you.  Needs to look you in the eye.  He grasps your chin and tilts your face until you’re looking at him.

“You okay with this?”  He says it softly.  He says it as kindly as he can.

“Yeah.”  You nod, then add, “no one needs to know, right?”

“Right.”

“No one needs to know.”

“Exactly.”

You offer him a smile, and it’s genuine.  It’s not your normal smart-ass smirk, the way one corner of your mouth lifts higher than the other.  It’s a real smile, and he has to push that uncomfortable truth away again because if you’re cute when you smirk, you’re beautiful when you smile, and Richie can’t dwell on the fact.

“C’mon then, Richard.  Bedroom’s this way.”

“Asshole,” he huffs out, but you push his jacket off of his shoulders and let it fall to the ground, and you tug him down your hallway. 

You alternate and he lets you strip him and yourself—a piece of his clothing, a piece of yours.  You leave a trail so that you’re both nearly naked once you’re in the bedroom.  He stands in front of you, his boxers tented, and he takes in the sight of you.  In standard, everyday lingerie—dark grey bra and panties—but the everyday shit makes his mouth run dry.  Elaborate lingerie is not really his thing, but seeing a woman in her everyday shit, the comfortable cotton shit…that feels more special, somehow.  Like you woke up that morning and put on the functional stuff, but now here you are, nearly naked for him.

You always rise to meet his energy.  He’s openly ogling you now, and you gaze back at him, openly staring back.  He has a moment of doubt—maybe he should lift more, cut back on beers after work—but your eyes are blown dark with desire, and it makes his cock twitch to see it.

You seem to want him as much as he wants you. 

“C’mere, you fucking pain in the ass,” he growls, and you roll your eyes but bridge the distance between you.  You press the length of your near-naked body against his, and the sudden touch makes him bite back a groan.  He puts his hands on your waist, and you lay your palms against his chest, and you kiss again.

The kiss grows and grows.  He bullies his way into your mouth, sweeps his tongue and licks against your mouth, and you answer in kind.  You kiss him back, and your hands stroke his chest, his shoulders, his arms.  One snakes lower and grasps him through his boxers, and he swears against your lips at the feel of your palm stoking him.

He pushes you backwards towards the bed.  He pushes you until you hit the bed, and then he pushes you down, but you reach out and grasp him golden chain and tug him down to join you. 

You always rise to meet him.  He takes charge and slots himself between your legs, but you move eagerly.  When he lowers himself onto you, still partially dressed, you lift yourself up and press against him.  Your clothed breasts against his chest, and he dips his head and tugs the cups of your bra down until you’re exposed to him.  He lowers his head and kisses you, works his mouth against you.  He sucks a mark on each curve of your breast, right where your bra will cover.  He wants you to see them and think of him, a pair of mementos to this moment.

“Fuck, Richie.”  You breathe it out, and your hand cups the back of his head.  You hold him against you, and he’s too happy to stay here for a while:  sucking against your nipples, biting lightly until you squirm.  Laving your tender buds with the flat of his tongue, pinching and tugging until you shove him away with a groan.

“Too much,” you whine, but you tangle in his chain again and tug his mouth to yours.  He kisses you, relishes how flushed your skin feels under his lips as he kisses his way across your face, down your neck, across your bare shoulders.  He pauses long enough to undo your bra in earnest, tosses it aside.  Then he kisses his way down your chest again, traces his tongue further down to your soft belly until his chin is perched right on the waistband of your panties.

“Can I?” he asks.  He traces a finger under the lace edging, and he watches your face.  You gaze back at him, your eyes still dark and pupils blown.  Your lips are swollen, and your chest rises and falls with how hard you’re breathing.

You nod.  “You can take them off.”

“Is that it?  Nothing else?”

You laugh, breathless.  “Some other time.  Really want you to fuck me instead.”

Some other time.  The thought makes Richie’s dick twitch at the idea of doing this another time.

You feel him twitch against you.  You laugh again to feel it, and you lift a leg to hook it clumsily along the waistband of his boxers.  You try to push them down, and then you’re chanting “come on, come on, come on” as he scrambles to shuck off the rest of his clothing, scrambles to hook his fingers under your panties as he draws them down your legs. 

“Condoms in the bedside stand,” you tell him, and he opens the drawer, snags one.  He notes the bright pink vibrator there but doesn’t remark on it.  He’ll tuck the image away and revisit it days later in the shower:  a rich bit of fantasy where he pictures you masturbating to the thought of him.

He tears the foil with his teeth, and he watches you as he rolls the condom on himself.  You’re absolutely fucking gorgeous, better than he ever imagined, and a galling little voice in the back of his head asks, “so you’ve been imagining her, huh, asshole?”

He ignores the voice and what it might say next.  He stands over you and asks instead, “how do you want me, sweetheart?”

Another smile.  A genuine one.  “However you want it.”

“Anal, then.”

It startles a laugh out of you, and Richie thinks he might love that—the way he surprises you into laughing.  You prop yourself up on your elbows and look at him.  You kick out a bare foot and press your toes low against his belly, centimeters away from touching the tip of his cock where it stands at attention.

“Not that,” you chide.  “That requires prep.”

“Not a no, sweetheart.”

“It’s a no for this moment.”

“Hmm.  Interesting.”  He grips your ankle and circles it with his hand, and he bends your leg.  Pushes it away from him, pushes it closer to you, and it reveals your gorgeous pussy to him:  the neat-trimmed curls, the slick arousal, the swollen bud of your clit.

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart,” he groans to see you.  “Gotta tell me how you want me, and fucking quick.”

“Missionary works for me,” you reply.  “Old reliable.”

So he climbs onto you.  He kneels between your legs, then pushes them apart obscenely wide.  You stay propped up on your elbows, watching him, but when he settles between your thighs, you fall back against your pillow.

“Good?” he asks.

“You haven’t done much,” you point out. 

“Smart-ass.”  He reaches down and grasps his cock at the base, and he drags the tip of himself through your folds.  He coats himself in your arousal, feels the heat of your pussy even through the latex, then notches himself at your entrance.  He looks down and pushes just the tip in, and the sight of it—barely inside you, the promise of burying himself inside you—makes his vision go fuzzy around the edges.

“Richie.”  You reach up with one hand to cup his face, and you peer up into his eyes.  “Fuck me, please.”

Your other hand finds the small of his back.  You can’t quite reach his ass, so you lay your palm against the small of his back and urge him forward, and he pushes into you.  He goes slow but steady, and he hears your small gasp as your tight cunt makes room for him.  He feels the stretch of it, the smooth muscles twitching at him, and he studies your face for any pain but finds none.

“Pussy’s gripping at me,” he grits out once he’s seated in you.  “Guess you needed it bad after all.”

“Don’t gloat.”  You bear down on him, squeeze him like a fist, and it makes him choke out a curse.  “You needed it bad too, I think.”

“Not complaining here, sweetheart.”

You take his chain in your hand and tug him down to you again.  You kiss him, then mumble against his mouth, “so fuck me then, Richard.  Move.”

He does as you ask.  You’re a pain in the ass, and you’re a representative of all the change occurring in his life without his permission, but he wants to make it good for you.  He remembers the way you clung to him that night in the basement, and he wants to capture that feeling again…even as he shoves the memory aside and begins to fuck you in earnest.

He doesn’t thrust in and out so much as up and down; he learned this move a long time ago and knows it feels better for his partner.  His thrusts hit every part—each reseating brushes the tip of him against the end of you, and it makes you whine each time.  The slide in and out, at this angle, draws along the firm bud of your clit.  And each time he pushes himself home, the base of him grinds along your clit too, and it makes him feel like a million bucks when you gasp out his name, warn him that you’re close—

“Fuck, fuck.  God, Richie, I’m c-close.  Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t—"

And then it tears out of you:  the hard snap of your hips as you lift them to meet his most punishing thrust, the way you tremble under him, your legs shaking, your eyes rolled back in your head.  The way your cunt grips him, ripples against him until it feels like he’s being pulled into your body, and the thought takes hold of him.  He wants to crawl inside you, wants to fill you with himself, wants to merge with you, and the thoughts are so rapid-fire he feels insane for a moment before he settles.

You open your eyes and blink up at him, surprised.  “Holy shit.”

“Told you.”

“Don’t gloat.”  You lift your head and kiss the side of his neck, and he adjusts himself and keeps fucking you.

He’s hit his rhythm now; he deals you hard thrusts and you take them.  You beg for more.  His arms burn as he arches over you.  His calves burn as he drives his cock into you, and sweat beads along his hairline.  He’s covered in a sheen of it, but he doesn’t stop.  He fucks you hard, and his gold necklace swings in time to his thrusts.  It hits you in your face until you hook it with a finger and put the fucking thing in your mouth, and he doesn’t know why it's so hot—maybe it makes him think of your mouth on parts of him instead of just his necklace. 

He makes you come a second time, and it breaks around you again, leaves you trembling and incoherent, but after you recover, you push him over.  It’s easy for you to do—he’s winded as fuck from all his smoking—and Richie finds himself underneath you as you ride him.

He’s happy for the break, but he’s happy to see this side of you.  Any shyness from earlier is long gone.  You sit astride him and bounce on his cock, and it makes your tits bounce too, and he can look down at where he disappears into your tight, wet pussy.

He’s not going to last much longer, and he tells you so.

“S’fine,” you pant out.  “Want you to come too, Richie.”

Then you reach down and take his hands in yours, you place his hands on your tits, and he sort of loves how you take charge at the end.  You push your chest into his hands and ride him, and once he’s touching you there—pinching at your nipples until you arch your back—you reach down and touch yourself.  He watches, transfixed, as you rub a tight circle against your clit, and he can feel you getting close now.  Two orgasms down, he can feel the warning signs.

“Try to come with me,” you order him.  “Want to feel it.”

He’s close.  He’s been close for a while, has been forestalling his own pleasure by listing out White Sox statistics in his head.  But now he wants to come with you as you’ve asked (he wants to do everything for you, anything you ask, he wants all of it, and he struggles to push the thoughts away this time).  He breathes in time with your riding, and he feels his balls tighten as his orgasm approaches.

“I’m close,” he warns.  “Fuck, sweetheart, are you close?”

“Y-y-yes.”  You close your eyes and drop your head, focusing on whatever you’re feeling.

“Gonna come with me?”

“Mmm-hmm.”  You take a sharp breath, then moan as you come a third time, and if he doesn’t quite come with you at exactly the same time, it’s close enough:  the way your pussy grasps at him, draws him in deeper is enough to push him over the edge, and he shifts his hands to your waist.  He pulls you down onto him and stills, feels the pulse of his orgasm as he spills in the condom.

It takes him a long while to recover.  He feels weightless.  Boneless.  He feels like he’s melting into the covers of your bed.  Like he could sleep for a hundred years.  Like he could give up cigarettes and Xanax if he could just stay here and fuck  you whenever his anxiety or insomnia are too much….

You dismount on shaky legs, and you disappear.  When you return, you’re in an oversized t-shirt that skims the top of your thighs, and you hand him a warm washcloth.

“You can take your time,” you tell him.  “No rush.”

Richie reaches down and pulls the condom off.  He ties it off and looks around until he sees a waste bin.  He tosses it, then flops back down on your bed.

“Just need a minute,” he says, but his voice is already thick with sleep, and he doesn’t remember anything else until morning when he wakes up to the smell of strong coffee and sizzling bacon.

He doesn’t remember you standing over him, bemused as you watch him snore.  He doesn’t remember you lying down beside him, covering both of you with a blanket.

And he certainly doesn’t remember reaching for you in his sleep.  He doesn’t remember how you wrap your arms around him, just like that night in the basement of The Beef, and how he sighs at the feeling of you tucked against him again.

[milliesdiary]

i cant stop thinking about aemond fucking you so sweetly and just worshipping your body, making you cum multiple times

𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭; aemond spoils you like the princess you are.

𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬; princess!reader, p in v penetration, mentions of fingering and oral, just pure smut ♡

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞; hi! i just had to write this little drabble :) please reblog and comment with your feedback. it means the world to me and keeps me motivated! be sure to consider following to stay updated ✨

"Breathe, Princess," Aemond grunts lowly, his hands holding onto your hips as you balance on his lap. When you fully press down on his erect cock once more, he guides you and lets out a satisfied hum. You start moving your hips, slowly — painfully slow — grinding his thick shaft deep inside your sopping cunt. 

“M-My Prince!” you gasp out. Everything is so sensitive; you have already cum two times, once from Aemond stuffing his long fingers into your pussy and the mind-blowing oral he performed afterwards. You’re close to another orgasm, and you would be embarrassed if you weren’t so clouded by pleasure. 

“Aemond,” he corrects, that one violet eye of his glinting with unadulterated desire and a tinge of fucking amusement.

Aemond pulls you down for a scorching kiss — his ability to tolerate the sight of you taking him so well is quickly vanishing. The whole thing is fucking messy, just a collision of teeth and tongues as he licks at your bottom lip. His head spins as a result of the sensuality of your kisses, and when he starts to grind up into you, your fingers fly up to tug on the silver strands of his long hair. 

The sting on his scalp makes Aemond lets out a strangled breath, and his thrusts deepen as he growls out, "You are beautiful." He enjoys the sound of your high-pitched whine in response, and his pride grows as he observes how fucked out you are already.

"I possess a considerable amount of desires," Aemond says in a hushed tone. "I want you. Your hand in marriage. I want to suffocate you with my dedication. Every inch of you." 

You wish so greatly that you could exchange the same words, reassure him of your affections; but you’re too jaded, too caught up in Aemond. That fire inside of him burns with a flaming wrath, yet he is gold. 

You can only think of one thing: 

What an honor it is to be valued by him. 

A stifled grunt escapes Aemond's chest as you grind your hips over his agonizing length, and he furrows his brows. The way your walls cling to his shaft and draw him in until his swollen, enraged tip is pressed firmly against your cervix has completely captured his attention. You're just so wet and tight, leaking all over his cock.

To bring you forward and press his lips against yours, Aemond’s large hand extends to the nape of your neck. Your lips passionately slide against his, and you might just die from the sensation.

“If I am a monster, it is because of the malice of man,” Aemond murmurs into your mouth. “It is only because of your love that I can be spared.” 

And this is the moment you have no regrets. 

Those in the kingdom made fun of you for selecting Aemond, a man built of barbed wire, equally as sharp and dangerous. How can you explain to them that it is the barbed wire that has protected you all this time? 

His fingertips clench around your neck as you attempt to move on instinct, and all you can do is you scream out a pathetic "Aemond!" as you break free from the frantic kiss. “Gods, please. Don’t stop!”

“Keep begging, my love.” Aemond almost chuckles, his lips mouthing over the curve of your breast. "It suits you."

His fingers start to circle your clit and you gasp, clinging to him as his calloused thumb hooks against it and he continues to gently rock into you in excruciating pleasure.

You both gasp as the sensation of him being so completely inside of you, your choked exhale shuddering as they pass through your lips.

“Good girl,” Aemond purrs, his smirk predatory and devilish, made worse by his expression full of mirth. He’s so fixated on how your cunt is trying so valiantly to milk him for all that he is worth, focused on the way your eyes slam shut with pleasure and your jaw drops open. Before you can tell him how much you love him, he gently rolls his hips to lead you up and down his burning-hot length. He begins to place kisses along your jugular, the hot puffs of breath fanning across the skin there, his speed on your clit increasing.

“I’m so close!” you whimper, your hands trembling as they grip his shoulders. Aemond hum in acknowledgement, the corners of his slightly lips twitching upward. 

“I am in your blood, in your veins, your psyche. Your entire being—body, senses, and divinity is mine. Can you feel it, Princess?”

“Yes!”

You’re about to cum, hanging right on the precipice of falling over the edge. The heat builds up in your belly, prepared to burst and dust you both with screamed moans and detonate explosive stars behind closed eyelids. You let out a broken cry of his name, urging him brush his mouth against your lips. 

“You stole my heart, my love,” Aemond whispers. “Don’t dare give it back.” 

[cissyenthusiast010155]

hey!! i was wondering if you could write a oneshot of larissa or melissa (whatever you think is best) where badicslly r and them literally despise eachother bc they got started off on the wrong foot and every interaction between them has just gone south, but r and larissa or mel find eachother extremely attractive, and then basically someone in the school told them that r is actually in love with them. and basically after that they get into another heated argument and they pull out the “it’s not my fault you’re in love with me” or something along those lines and r denies it ofc and then after that they like kiss n maybe some angry smut if you’re alright with that.

so sorry if this is too specific or you just don’t wanna write it lmfao 😭 TYSM!!

- 🪼

It Ain’t My Fault ~Dom!Melissa Schemmenti xFem Sub!Reader

Summary— Enemies to Lovers AU, where Melissa and Reader have never gotten along. The tension between them finally snaps… What will happen…? Anon Response— Thank you for the detailed request, anon!! I hope this finds you well. I had fun writing this little smut piece for you. Hope you Enjoy! ♥️

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: NSFW, 18+!!, smut, fingering, eating out, semi-public sex, enemies to lovers, fighting, love confessions, screaming/yelling, dominance, light dom/sub implications, implied future smut, etc.

Enjoy (;

“Well It’s not my fault you’re in love with me—!!” Melissa shrieked.

Her classroom suddenly felt too hot and far too cramped, even though it was only the two of you. Your breath hitched and you stepped back slightly.

The two of you had been known to get into yelling matches, and the staff was quick to banish the two of you from the lounge if you felt like going at it. You didn’t even remember what this fight was originally about. You just didn’t get along. Never had. Ever since you had arrived at Abbott, Melissa always undermined you. It drove you insane, how she got under your skin. For Melissa, she could stand you either. You were just so annoying. So young and naive, so quick to disregard and disrespect authority. Neither of you would ever want to admit that you found the other attractive.

“Excuse me…??” You finally spat, coming back to reality from the brief stun.

“You heard me…!” She cocked, placing her hands on her hips and swiveling her head tauntingly.

“I am not in love with you—!” You exclaimed defensively, crossing your arms.

Melissa grinned wickedly and sauntered up towards you. You instinctually began to back up until the back of your legs hit the edge of her desk. Your breath hitched again as the older woman now stood right in front of you.

“Barb says otherwise, and Barb is always right.” She purred condescendingly, tilted her head slightly and staring you down.

Your eyes widened and you gulped. You uncross your arms and lean back a little on the desk, trying to get away from her intense presence.

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about…” you stammer.

“Fine, then prove it.” She quips, cocking her brow at you.

A challenge is something you can do.

“Ok, try me.” You immediately shoot back.

Melissa smirks and steps just a bit closer, so that her body is almost flush against you but not quite yet.

“Kiss me.”

You nearly choke on your own air, as your face flushes a deep red.

“I… sorry what..??” You choke out.

“Kiss me.” Melissa repeats as if it’s nothing, with a shrug, “Just once.”

“And what’s that going to prove…??” You defensively shot.

She raised her brow.

“You chicken?”

You immediately growled at her words. If there was anything you hated, it was being called incompetent and a coward. And Melissa loved to taunt you with both.

“Shut up.” You growled, before grabbing the back of her neck with one hand and smashing your lips together.

Melissa immediately groaned into the kiss. You really thought that you’d be able to prove your lack of love with this, but you were so wrong. The second you felt her lips, you were hooked. The kiss went from a peck to a sloppy mess in a matter of seconds, and neither one of you minded. You let out a breathy moan as her tongue slid into your mouth.

Her hands snaked around your sides, effectively pinning you to her desk. Yours held the back of her neck, as the other slid to her ass, pulling her flush against you while graciously squeezing her rear. This action made Melissa groan into the kiss once more, which only sent increasing sparks of arousal throughout your body.

After a minute, you both had to pull away, breathless. But the woman still kept you pinned to the edge of the desk by your hips. Her hold on you was bruising and dizzying, as you desperately tried to catch your breath. Melissa looked quite pleased with herself for having kissed you breathless.

When you finally met her eye, you knew she had won. The dark flicker of lustful dominance was something you couldn’t help but fold to. You allowed the woman the hoist you up on the edge of her desk, you allowed her mouth to wander along your exposed skin. You allowed her to take your tits and cunt out, to call you deliciously derogatory names as she sucked and bit at your nipples. You allowed her to shove her fingers into your mouth as a way to keep you quiet as she sucked on your pearl and explored your juicy folds. You allowed her to completely take control. And in return, she allowed you to cum.

~~~

Melissa Schemmenti Masterlist

[irkimatsu]

NSFW Husk headcanons because I've lost control of my life

-Dude loves a nice ass. Gender and presentation don't matter, if you have a nice round ass he wants it. Sit on his face, let him burrow his nose and tongue into your cheeks. Give him some 69 to really sweeten the deal. Let him fuck you, let him feel those soft cheeks pressed into his waist on every deep thrust... yeah, that's the ticket.

-I still need to figure out exactly how I want to write his dick, just that it's not strictly human, and it's more mammalian than avian. Don't know how far I wanna go with the barbs. I need to go look at some inspiration (read: filthy, filthy furry porn.) It's a good size, can really fuck you up if he wants to.

-He's pretty strictly a top - not too keen on penetration. He's tried it, it doesn't do it for him. Might let you rim him if he's drunk enough, though. He does like giving head regardless of genitalia, but you have to let him set the pace. Try any shit like throatfucking and you're gonna be left with your hand for the rest of the night. (This does not, of course, mean that he's not going to throatfuck you, especially during a good 69 where he's so turned on he can't help but thrust.)

-He's not really into BDSM in general, and he is definitely not into being submissive. He already wasn't into it when he was alive, but after everything he's been through in hell, absolutely not. Do not restrain him, do not talk down to him, and for the love of god don't even suggest pet play. Best case scenario he'll just get pissed off; worst case scenario you're gonna trigger a breakdown. Don't do it.

-That said, he can still be fairly dominant outside of the typical BDSM stereotypes. He'll tie you up if you really want, but that's not the domination he's into; when he thinks about being dominant, he thinks about pinning you down and fucking you fast and rough until you're an overstimulated mess. If the bed isn't slamming into the wall with every thrust, he's not doing it hard enough. Expect lots of loud swearing about how fucking great you're making him feel. He loves dirty talk, clawing, and biting in both directions. Sink your teeth into his shoulder at your own risk, it'll only intensify his need. Definitely have to be careful if you're fucking his demon form; he doesn't want to hurt you, but he'll never quite be used to those claws...

-Even if he's toned down now, he was a lot more sadistic as an Overlord. Loved making bets with prey and then dominating his prize when he won. He'd back off if he other person truly seemed to be distressed, but uncertainty and passivity weren't deterrents for him, and if he could get his prize to start begging for more of his rough treatment, then that was the greatest prize of all. He's not proud of this aspect of himself, which makes him wary about indulging in consensual sadism after his fall, but if you can really make him comfortable and assure him that you want him to be not just rough, but mean about it, then maybe the instinct will kick in again...

-He has a surprising amount of stamina. He may be in his 60's, but being a demon gets rid of all those pesky problems that come with an aging human body. He can go for hours if he really wants it. Given how rough he likes it, you better have the stamina in turn to keep up. This is especially apparent when he gets back into sexual activity after his fall from being an Overlord, since he hasn't had much sex if any at all since then. He is super pent up and it's going to take a few all-nighters for him to get it all out of his system.

-For all of his love of rough, intense sex, the man has a heart, too; you'll make him feel so much better if you warm him up first. Cuddle and kiss him, compliment him, scratch and massage that spot beneath his wings that hits so right. He's happy to return the favor, teasing every inch of you with his mouth and hands until you're begging him to fill you up already. He'll rub his cock against your hole while you're begging, smirking down at your desperate face. The sounds you make when he finally gives you what you want are so satisfying.

-He loves multiple types of compliment during sex. He loves hearing how much you love him, how happy he makes you, how you always want to be with him... and he also loves hearing about how badly you need his huge cock slamming you open. A little ego stroking goes a long way with him. Nothing too cheesy, he finds overly scripted porno dialogue to be a bit of a turnoff, but if you find that sweet spot between earnest and filthy he's all yours.

-He's a big cuddler after sex. He feels incredibly vulnerable when the deed is done, and should not be left alone afterward under any circumstances at risk of permanent emotional damage. Let him take care of you, kissing all the spots he scratched and thanking you for the good time, before falling asleep with his arms and wings wrapped around you. His purrs are loudest during a post-coital cuddle and sleep. It's adorable, but do not mention this to him, ever. He already knows he does it. You do not need bring it up. (This wasn't quite the case when he was an Overlord; the most he could manage then were some halfhearted apologies or compliments on how well they did, depending on how it went, before sending them off so he could go drown his deeply repressed guilt in booze. It wasn't great for him. Not a thing he ever wants to revisit.)

[marcusakito]

Lyney Cat Hybrid Boyfriend HCs (Sfw and Nsfw)

I blame my friend for inspiring me to write this. But I still had fun thinking about it, so was it really that bad?

Lyney x Fem!Reader

CW: Minors DNI, Slight Yandere (Just to be safe I'll add that), Biting(?), Rough Sex, Breeding, Penetration, and technically a monster cock.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

SFW:

I really wanna believe Lyney is a cat hybrid like his sister Lynette. Perhaps he takes a special suppressant that makes his cat features less prominent.

His ears would be small enough to be completely flush in his hair, and his tail small enough to hide in his clothes. The only thing visible in his cat trait would be his eyes. The glow in the dark, and see just as well in the dark too.

Why would he do that? Having one cat on stage makes it special, unique, don't you think having two makes it less so?

Of course like most medicine, I doubt taking the suppressant constantly would be healthy. He has a few days where he doesn't take them.

So imagine your surprise when his cat ears spring up, and being in casual clothes, his tail moves freely around.

Yes, he'll allow you to touch them. But only if you promise to be gentle.

If you pet his head and scratch his ears, he'll be snuggling up against you and purring. Same goes for when you sleep together.

What a clingy cat. But that's what makes him adorable, no?

If he purrs, he definitely hisses. He's learned to surpress that since he was young, but if he gets jealous towards someone... Well now, he can't help it at that point.

He'd have the urge to scratch their face off, but he resists doing that. That would be rather... Unbecoming of his charismatic self. Besides, he has other possible ways of handling things.

That is, to show outwardly open affection to you. Prove to that person you're his.

Just like any other cat, Lyney's stomach is a sensitive spot. Very, very ticklish and he doesn't mind if you wanna tickle him, he trusts you! Just don't tickle him out of surprise when you're outside, he might accidentally scratch you.

He'll be sure to give a thousand apologies for it though. And maybe a rose or two.

NSFW:

MASSIVE BREEDING KINK.

He can't help himself, it's his primal instincts taking over when you two have intercourse.

His cock is a little thinner than average, 6", bulbous and red tip, and extremely sensitive. His dick has rough, rounded barbs around the base of his shaft.

Those barbs rubs against your walls and clit just right. It was an unexpected pleasure for the both of you, since they were sensitive for Lyney, and it makes him cum pretty easily even without much stimulation.

He retracts his claws (His nails) so they won't hurt you when he plunges them into your hole to finger you. But he'd use them to sensually graze his nails softly too.

His favourite position is doggystyle (Or rather, catstyle?) And prone bone, but he wouldn't mind other positions. He just knows that particular one makes him certain you'll be properly bred.

He'll either hold you by your hips or pin your hands above your head, with his chest pressed against your back. He'll praise you for doing so well, how well you'll take his seed, and for the beautiful bump for when you bear his children.

The thought of you pregnant just riles him up and turns him on.

He's got naturally high libido, but oh boy, good luck during his heat cycle.

He'll be clingy, snuggling against you constantly that you'll have to shove him off. That doesn't stop him, though.

And once you're home, well...

He'll be thrusting into you roughly, overstimulating you over and over again to cum inside you without a moment of rest.

And if you try to get away and act up? He's not above biting you at the back of your neck.

It's his cat instincts needing you to stay longer. Even after you've had what, 5 orgasms and a ton of his load in you?

He'll realize what he did and make up for it later by drawing you a bath or patching it up.

Mandatory snuggles after sex. No exception.

And he'll be keeping his dick inside of you all night. You don't mind cockwarming, do you? He's just making sure not to waste a single drop of his semen inside you.

Hope you don't mind not walking for a while. Don't worry, Lyney's taking care of you well throughtout the mating season.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Hope you enjoyed my hcs! I was thinking of writing more monster(?) Human headcanons, not limited to animal hybrids. It's just fun to think of the possibilities.

If you have any concerns or suggestions, feel free to give a comment or ask!

[merakiui]

keep thinking how can differ dicks between species in twst boys…idk if it is scary or exciting to let IT be put into someone;)

It's beyond terrifying. T_T whether human or mer, the twins have massive monstercocks and I will die on this hill. OTL they are absolutely packing in human form. Those dicks are going to break you and ruin you and make you so stupid and cum-drunk; and now no other dick will satisfy quite like the tweels' can. Their dicks are so big you'd think they were made specifically to breed!!!! You can never try topping either of them (although they're certainly willing to let you try) because not even a minute into sex and you're already losing your mind. With their mer forms, I imagine they can either have two (for oviposition routes) or one really big, inhuman, prehensile monster of a cock and it drives you so crazy and !!!!!!! The delusions are interchangeable.

AND AZUL. I have a PhD in Azul cock. (˘ ˘ ˘) I could talk about the potential all day because he has the tako hectocotylus that can fill you in more ways than one (spatially and biologically). It's even better if he's fucking you in mer form and he doesn't tell you he's putting his dick in, so you're either getting stuffed full or it's just one of his tentacles. It's like Russian roulette but for sex and breeding. Will he knock you up today, or are you safe? >:) better let him climax quick if you're so desperate to find out.

It goes without saying Malleus is the king of monstercock!!!! He has two of them. <3 it's even better because you could fall apart on one or both of them and Malleus will later worry about whether or not you enjoyed yourself. He goes to Lilia like: "do you think my friend enjoyed our copulation? I worry I may not have been adequate enough." 🥺👉👈 firstly, Malleus, you and darling are lovers at this point!!! <3 and secondly, you were more than adequate. He is immaculate and so good with aftercare as well. But before you can get to the gentle aftercare, you have to be destroyed by the monstercock first.

With Lilia, I imagine he can change his dick size using magic. He's so silly and spontaneous in that way. One minute he's average-sized and the next he's filling you all the way up to your stomach as if he's trying to rearrange your guts. T_T and he's always giggling and cooing at you like, "Aww, can't take more than this? Was it not you who told me you wanted it deeper?" >:( troublesome!!! You want it deeper and he wants to parent another child. orz

As for Sebek, since he's part fae, I imagine he just has a big dick, too. I think he fucks you without realizing just how big he is and then he's smug seeing your tummy bulge and the way you look so blissed out because a human who can't take something like this is obviously subpar! (No, Sebek, you're just big and also you just gave darling the best fuck of their life. T_T)

Savanaclaw has dicks befitting their beastfolk nature. Leona with his barbed cock....... it will hurt, but maybe you like the pain hehe. And Jack with his absurdly big dick and knot!!!!!! But he's so sweet about it, and he's surprisingly good at "just the tip" when he knows you can only take so much. He doesn't want to stress you out or hurt you, and he's very patient and gentle and loving. Ruggie has a smaller cock, but he knows how to utilize other assets (hands and mouth and words) to get you worked up. But then it's in his nature to be submissive during sex and it's really so cute even though he hisses at you to call him something other than that. T_T at least call him cute when he's not babbling nonsense and filth because he's so lost in the sensations.

[starrayblogs]

Not So Rock-Hearted || Floyd (Trolls) x Reader

a/n: MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE! or happy holidays~ i hope you all had a wonderful day, and i hope this new chapter is a fun read! likes/reblogs are appreciated, and asks are welcomed c:

tags: @brights-place

✩ previous chapter

v. Keep on Watching

It’s the day of the Secret Holiday Gift Swap.

And you’re panicking.

“Barb!” You barge into the longue room and watch as the mentioned troll shouts, jumps, and drops her invitation. 

“What the- I know I told you you’re welcome anytime, but you can knock-” She tuts when she recognizes that it’s you, bending to pick up her card again.

“I got him!” You pop up in front of her, grabbing her by the shoulders and stopping her from picking up her card again.

“Who’s ‘him’?” Barb raises a brow, leaning her head away and tucking her chin to further emphasize her confusion.

You let her go with furrowed brows and a dreaded look in your eyes. “I got Floyd!” You say, out of breath, like you’ve just sang your heart out.

“Wait, what’s wrong with that?” Barb places a hand on her hip, finally having the opportunity to pick up her invitation.

“Uh- what isn’t wrong with that?” You extend your arms and shake your head in quick, short motions. “I’m already having a hard time confronting my feelings for him, now I have to think about him even more!” You exclaim, letting your weight fall on your butt and your back against the couch. 

Barb laughs, taking her seat next to you with her knee up. “Man, I would have never assumed you’d be a softie underneath all that edge. Then again, that’s any of us actually…” She trails off a bit before letting out an amused sigh, turning her head to you. “Seriously though, don’t complicate things too much.” She shrugs.

“Easy for you to say, who did you get?” You cock your head in her direction, watching her open her card.

“I got…” You hum, watching her pull out the name. “Aww, cool, I got Riff! I totally know what to get ‘im.” She smirks confidently, tucking the piece of paper back in the pocket of the card. 

“Good for you,” you quip quickly before catching her attention. “But what do I get Floyd?” You ask worriedly.

“Uhh… Well, what do you think he’s like?” Barb asks. You look ahead of you, thinking back to him.

“He’s… kind. Very kind, it’s like his whole charm. He’s sweet too, like cotton candy. And he’s reeeaaally cool, I mean come on! The hair was one thing, but spending the weekend with him… When he sang, I immediately got hooked on his voice.” You inhale deeply. “It’s gentle. Like the way he speaks to me, it’s like he cares about me…”

“Maybe because he does.”

You swiftly turn your head to Barb with a deadpan look, who raises her hands up in defense before motioning for you to go on.

“Ugh, he’s just! So…!” You plop your head down on the couch behind you, reaching for a pillow behind you and plopping it on your face.

“So… from all that, what do you think is the best gift for him?” She asks again, but you sigh. You remove the pillow from your face and glance at her. “Hey, you’ve got three days to think about it. I’m sure you’ll come up with something…” She reassures you, patting your shoulder.

And you did, but you weren’t confident with it.

You clear the cough in your throat as you hop off your bike, adjusting your guitar strap. You look ahead to Pop Village, seeing all the other trolls and their gifts. “What if you just handed the gift to Floyd and told him I got sick?” You rapped to Barb, holding your gift nervously.

“Dude.” She looks at you with a ‘seriously?’ face. “No. Poppy always said, it’s the thought that counts when it comes to gifts.” She pokes a finger to your chest. “And every rock troll knows how much you thought about this gift.”

Your cheeks warm up a little, and you let out a long sigh. “You’re right, you’re right.” You hop a bit on your feet, telling yourself to relax a bit. You look at the colorful light bulbs hanging across the entire village, lighting up the night, and smile a little.

“Come on, the gift swap’s about to start.” Barb starts walking with her gift in hand, and you follow her to a big stage where Poppy and Branch stand atop it.

“Welcome to our second Trolls Kingdom Secret Holiday Gift Swap! I’m so glad to have you all here again, and with some new faces this time.” Poppy grins, pointing in the crowd and having a light shine down on the pointed area. You see that it’s Viva, her Putt Putt Trolls (which she told you about), and Brozone all condensed in one area. 

The crowd welcomes them with a cheer, but you find your eyes on that pink-haired troll. You chuckle when you notice the piercing in his ear turned into a snowflake to match the holiday. You turn away and look at his gift in your hands, frowning a bit. You look up when Barb speaks.

“You’ve got this.” Her hand moves to pat the place where your heart would be. “Time to let someone new in this, ya know?” She chuckles and you do the same, following it with a whiney ‘yuck’.

“That’s the sappiest thing you’ve ever said.” You comment, and she shivers.

“Yeah, I think Poppy’s rubbing off on me.” Barb shakes her hair as if there was dirt on her. “But, you know what I mean.” She smirks, nudging your shoulder.

“Now, who’s ready to gift-swap!?” Poppy announces and fireworks shoot up into the sky. “Reveal your secret troll!” She hypes, and the crowd starts moving to find the person they got (who was scrapbooked on the invitation, conveniently).

Barb waves you goodbye to find Riff, which you return until she’s eventually lost in the crowd. You look to where Floyd was previously, but can’t get a glimpse of him from everyone running around. You frown, beginning to aimlessly walk around the crowd to find him until someone lifts you up in a hug.

“Amiga!” You let out a sigh of relief when you realize it’s Viva. When you’re let down, you turn around and return a quick hug.

“Happy holidays, Veev!” You greet and she giggles, still holding her gift. “Who’s the special troll?”

“Barb! The one you always hang out with, have you seen her?” She tilts her head, pursing her lips. 

“Got separated, but I hope you find her. I don’t think you’d miss that bright red mohawk anytime.” You snicker to yourself. “I like your clothes.” You comment on her white leotard with red trimmings and her matching red-and-white striped leg warmers. 

“Aww, thank you, you too-” she’s cut off with a gasp when she does a double take on your hair. “Did you..?” 

“Yeah…” You run a hand through your hair nervously. “Does it look fine?”

“Fine? Fine doesn’t even cut it, you look amazing!” Viva squeals, looking up at your newly two-toned hair. “Guess I don’t have to guess who you got, hm?” She smirks, raising her brows teasingly.

“Yeah…” You smirk eases into a smile. “Have you seen him?”

“Oh, I got separated from him too…” Viva frowns, which causes you to do the same. “But, I have no doubt you’ll find him!” She recovers, jumping on her toes excitedly. “I have a hunch that this holiday is gonna end up so well~” She sings.

“Can’t hide it from you either?” You raise a brow, tilting your head embarrassingly. 

“I’m your childhood best friend, what is it you can hide from me?” Viva smirks, punching you in the shoulder. “I was the one who came up with the idea to put you two together for the morning last weekend.” Your jaw drops, pointing a finger at her.

“That was your doing?” She giggles and winks, turning her back to you and running off with a jolly ‘see ya!’. “Viva, we’re talking about this later!” You yell into the crowd, hoping she hears that.

Your cheeks flush again as you grumble your way to Branch’s bunker, hoping to wait for the crowd to die down and you’d eventually spot Floyd. You hold his gift gently in your hands, maneuvering through the others who are either still finding their troll or are celebrating with their gifts already.

Once you make it out of the cramped area, you walk slowly to the bunker. You kept your eyes on your gift, overthinking if it was good enough to give to him. Then you hear your name.

You hear your name in his voice.

You turn around and see him emerging from the crowd, holding his gift. “Floyd.” You say, out of breath. Your eyes flutter as you watch him walk closer to you. Both of you are now far away from the noise, just the two of you right outside Branch’s house. Just like how you arrived.

He opens his mouth, but then he notices how you look tonight. You’re still dressed in your usual fashion, but for colder weather. Then his eyes met your hair.

“Oh…” His cheeks darken slightly as he sees what you’ve done to your hair. Instead of the highlight in your hair being your favorite color, you dyed it white in the meantime. Your hair matched his. “Your hair…”

“Yeah… I figured I could rock the look, ya know?” You chuckle, trying to keep up your cool image. When he doesn’t laugh with you, your brows furrow, and you frown as you try to meet his eyes. “Do you… not like it?”

“You look great.” He meets your eyes with a wide smile, and, for the first time, you see both of his eyes. “I like that we’re matching.” He follows up with a soft chuckle.

He’s beautiful.

Your frown slowly lifts into a smile as you laugh softly. “Now we’re both cotton candy.” You joke, and he laughs with you this time. There’s a small pause between you two after it dies until he speaks up.

“I’ve been looking for you.” He smiles at you. Your cheeks warm up again, and your shoulders straighten.

“You were?” You repeat, and he nods. He holds out the gift in his hands toward you. Your eyes widen, and you nearly drop your gift for him in shock. “You got me..?” You look back up at him in disbelief.

“Happy holidays.” He simply says with that stupidly charming smile of his. “I hope you like what I got you.” He nudges the box into your hands, and you reluctantly take it after propping his gift against the wall. 

“If it’s from you, Cotton Candy, I’ll enjoy it.” You chuckle. There’s truth in your words, but you were still putting up walls. You unwrap it and reveal a box. You lift up the top and mutter a soft ‘no way’, tossing the cover to the ground. 

Inside was a guitar strap. You gently take it out and set the box on the ground, letting the strap unfurl to its full length to see its design. It’s a simple black strap, but it’s stitched with several symbols related to rock in your favorite color. You don’t notice how wide your smile has gotten, and it only gets wider when you notice the stitched shape of cotton candy on a cone.

“Do you like it?” Floyd asks, bringing your attention back to him.

“I love it.” You reply, holding it close to your chest. You take off your electric guitar carefully, detaching your old guitar strap for your new one. “I’ll wear it forever. Thank you, Cotton Candy.” You laugh softly, placing your old one in the mess of your hair and wearing your guitar again.

He smiles, watching you adjust the guitar to your back again. “So who’d you get?” He tilts his head a bit, and you inhale sharply as your smile drops.

“Oh, funny you ask,” you chuckle nervously, reaching back for his gift again. “I got… Uh, I got you.” You hold out the present to him, looking away with downturned ears and darkened cheeks. “I hope you like it.”

His eyes widen in genuine surprise. His hands slowly rise to take the gift in your hand, trying to guess what the present could be as he turns it around. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted, and I was worried the whole time, wondering if this would make you happy.” You explain, watching him carefully tear the wrapping. “Then, I figured that if you don’t like it, I would dye my hair to match yours to make you happy… If you thought I would look funny or, I don’t know.” You fiddle with your (new) guitar strap.

He stops just as he was about to open the box at your words with a furrowed gaze. “Why would I think you’d look funny?” He asks, upset. 

You open your mouth to explain, but no words come out. You shrug your shoulders.

“I would never laugh at your appearance,” Floyd says, stepping closer to you. “I like how you look. I like that you thought about me enough to go as far as dying your hair.” He lets out a small laugh. “You keep getting cooler to me.”

If steam could come out of your ears, you wouldn’t be able to hide how much his words made you feel. Your chest is light again, and your heart is tugging in his direction. Your lips managed to turn into a smile. How can he keep doing that?

He returns to the gift, taking off the cover. “Woah.” He murmurs as he pulls out the gift from the box. You fiddle more with your guitar strap as you wait for more of his reaction.

You got him a rouge-colored acoustic guitar. The sides, fretboard, and soundhole were trimmed white to match. Most importantly, the fretboard was in the shape of a cotton candy swirl and colored both rouge and white. You worked on that guitar for the last two days, getting as much help as you could, but you did most of the work.

“Do you like it..? I wasn’t sure if you could play instruments, and you seemed like a guitar-type guy, so I could teach you-” You began to ramble worriedly until you were interrupted by a few notes played.

You watch him play the guitar smoothly before he stops with a smile, followed by the brightest laugh. “Thank you!” He says, his eyes turned into crescents. “It’s been a while since I’ve played. This is amazing,” he says your name and your worries fly away.

You smile sheepishly, running a hand through your hair for a moment. “I’m glad you enjoy it.”

“I love it.” He corrects you, just like you did. You share another laugh together. 

You hold your gifts to each other gently. His hands are careful with the guitar, and your thumb is carefully stroking the stitched pattern of cotton candy on the guitar strap. 

You’re so focused on his smile as he looks at you that you didn’t even process what he said when you saw his lips move. “What did you say?” You blink your eyes, telling yourself mentally to get it together.

“I asked if you’d like to spend the holiday together. It’s the weekend, right?” He tilts his head with a smile.

“Just the two of us?” You ask, dipping your head but keeping your eyes on him.

“If you’re only okay with it.” He quickly replies, his brows raising with his smile growing sheepish. “I was hoping we could play some songs together.” He chuckles, mostly to himself, but your head rises with a smirk.

“Is this some trap to hear me play again?” You chuckle. He hums, shrugging his shoulders innocently.

“I don’t know what makes you say that.” You laugh a bit harder, and his eyes soften.

You aren’t as scary as he thought you were the first time he saw you. He was taken aback by you’re casual compliment about his hair at the cantina, his heart thumping a bit faster from surprise. When he met you again, he thought you were cool and confident, finding himself interested in you. Then you left your guitar behind, and he took up the responsibility to take care of it until the next morning. When he saw your edgy exterior drop when he gave you back the guitar, something tugged at his heart again. 

And it’s tugging at him again, telling him to find out more about you.

“Come on, I recently got my own pod. We can jam out there.” Floyd suggests, and you nod your head as your laugh dies down.

“Ohh, trying to get a VIP rock show, are you now?” You snicker.

“Stop revealing my plans.” Floyd points a finger at you, trying to contain his own laughs by turning around and leading the way.

You breathe deeply as your face settles in a grin. That felt nice. He makes you feel so nice, and you remember Barb’s words. Your grin drops to a hesitant, small smile as you watch him walk. You think for a moment, wondering if you should just take the leap and grasp that happiness right in front of you.

“Are you coming?” Floyd stops and turns around to find you still standing. You blink and fiddle with your strap again, but you make up your mind. Your smile settles softly as you begin to walk up to him.

“Yeah.”

You two walk away together, making small talk on the way to Floyd’s house. You two walk away, unaware of the crowd watching you.

“Are they gone?” One of them whispers from under the mushroom. 

Branch, who reveals himself by dropping his disguise (which was a fluff ball, with the help of his hair), steps out under the mushroom and looks in the direction you two walked off in too. “Clear.”

There’s a pair of squeals as everyone’s hair disguise reveals themselves underneath the mushroom. “We should’ve put a mistletoe on top of them!”

“Woah, too early, Poppy.” Bruce raises a hand with a light chuckle.

“My little rockstar is growing up.” Barb steps away from Poppy, pouting her lip with a hand to her chest. “It’s sickeningly sweet, but aww, but also eww…” She fake gags, which receives a friendly hit on the back from Poppy.

“They’re adorableee.” Viva coos, her hands pressed to her cheeks.

“If adorable, you mean Floyd can’t even recognize his own growing feelings.” Branch rolls his eyes as he crosses his arms.

“Like you were any better.” Poppy smirks, hand on her hip.

“I agree with boytoy over there, though.” Barb raises her arms and dips her head in surrender. “It’s all cute seeing them together, but I don’t think I’m emotionally prepared to be a possible confession dummy.” She contemplates, scratching her ear.

“How long do you think until they get together?” JD tilts his head with crossed arms.

“Oh, I think they’re just like this sad romance book I read where-” Clay starts rambling about his predictions, earning the approval of Poppy and Viva, with the others weirdly agreeing with him too.

✩ next chapter

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

pls tell us you have more Ghoul Thoughts on the way🙏🏻

General NSFW Cooper Howard Headcanons 2

Prewar!Cooper Howard

Has a little-bitty bit of an intox kink. He'd never do anything untoward, but I think if he had a partner who didn't party much, it would turn him on a lot to watch them getting all warm-faced and losing their inhibitions after exactly one drink. Working in Hollywood means that sometimes you have to go out and attend functions to mingle and rub elbows, so he's pretty good at holding his liquor. Seeing someone who isn't stirs something up in him, and he's not good at rejecting your advances when the two of you get home like he should.

Shibari kink. Doesn't know that's what it's called, and hasn't really read up much about it, but really gets riled up seeing you wrapped in his lasso. One day you find a book about it, and you show it to him as a half-joke. Soon you're wearing a harness made out of that rope underneath your clothes.

Erotic grooming, anyone? This man will jump to help you wash and brush your hair in the shower. He finds it incredibly intimate, and would help Barb take care of her hair when they were together. He's also very happy to help you shave...

The Ghoul

Can we talk about how lazy this man would normally be during sex? He's 260+ years old and spends all day walking for miles in the desert heat and fighting the entire Wasteland. He would absolutely have you riding him/doing most of the work 90% of the time. And you know what? I support it. He deserves a little spoiling, so hop up and go nuts. But make no mistake: he's still the one in control.

Insanely possessive and only tries to hide the parts of it that he thinks would be truly off-putting. He knows he can't literally stop every single man in the world from interacting with you, looking at you...but if he could, he would. Big into marking you up with hickies, bite marks. Scent marking around other ghouls. The idea of tattooing or even branding you makes him hard as a rock, but he'd never bring it up first, too afraid it'd scare you off.

In the same sort of arena, he's obsessed with fucking his load back into you, be it with his tongue, his fingers, or his cock. You did the work of getting it out of him, you earned it; you're keeping it. Better have the Radaway ready.

[ariseur]

ok i saw you wanted some requests so im here to give you an idea!! im really angst about gojo right now and i need an angst fic. (spoilers for the manga)

ok so: gojo x reader but readers cursed technique is to be able to see into the future (but they can’t do anything about it or talk about it) and they get a vision of the gojo vs. sukuna fight and what happens. they get all upset about it and cling to gojo, trying to get him not to go. (established relationship pls🙏🏻)

sorry for the drabble, i’ve been aching for someone to write this haha

HOLD ME ( TIGHTER THAN YOU EVER WILL ) - GOJO SATORU

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ notes - i’m not gonna lie anon, i just finished the manga and i fell to my knees when i saw this request. ilysm for this but you are EVIL ( kiss me rn thank you for providing me with this angst )

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ warnings - spoilers for jujutsu kaisen manga chpts 222 - 236, character death ( canon ), weirdly descriptive mentions of you choking back words ( like that feeling you get when you’re trying not to cry and it feels like there’s barbed wire in your throat😭 ), gojo calls you “my girl” twice so fem!reader in mind when writing this, i didn’t really describe it as much of a technique i mainly kept it like you were seeing visions since i didn’t know how to correlate the ct i’m sorry!!, intended lowercase, hope you guys enjoy 😚💕!!

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ word count - 1654 words, 9068 characterss

“satoru.”

gojo turned around, his footsteps coming to a halt down the hallway of the infirmary. his face tipped towards you, cocking a bit as he let out a low hum of question.

upon seeing his face, your stomach clenched; a deep regret swirling in your abdomen. with a look at his face, your bottom lip quivered with furrowed brows. he stood there, trying to decipher your expression as he awaited an answer. his eyes, narrowed with confidence stood out on display rather than shielded from his blindfold. there was nothing left to hide now, not his strength and not his arrogance. you remembered how you had always begged him to take it off at least once, just so you could see his pretty eyes.

and now looking back retrospectively, it didn’t matter. those visions you saw, how real they felt. they couldn’t have been dreams, they always haunted you as they showed up everywhere. your eyes fell to satoru’s pink lips, pressed together in confusion before another thought intruded your head — another sight to behold as you felt like gagging upon remembering his bruised face, the blood spouting out from his mouth tainting his lips.

“i just,” you swallowed thickly, “i don’t think it’s a good idea to do this just yet.”

he sighed, giving one shake of his head before he stepped forward towards you. your head hung low, your words choked at the back of your throat as they threatened to escape their enclosure behind your uvula. “megumi’s in danger, people are watchin’ — i can’t postpone it, baby, you know that.” his hand placed itself on your shoulder, softly rubbing against the fabric of your shirt where the seams met.

“i’m not saying that— i just mean,” you closed your eyes, letting out a quiet, shaky breath. you recalled the conversation that happened not too long ago, back with ijichi and shoko. lamenting with all the memories back in your youth, along with reminiscing over everything that’s happened. shibuya, megumi’s possession, okkotsu’s return. everybody who’s died, it haunted you like no other knowing there was nothing you could do to prevent it; kugisaki, nanami, all those lives dealt a bad hand at their dreadful end. even yuuji itadori, someone so young being used so carelessly.

“damn, so it’s just the four of us left.” gojo’s voice had echoed throughout the room of your previous conversation. your head tipping back against the cold lockers as you stood in the corner, the scent of tobacco wafting in the air and seeping in through your nostrils from shoko’s cigarette whilst she stood not even a few feet away from you.

“well, there’s still also that idiot.” she huffed, transparent smoke slipping out in thin shapes from past her lips.

being around her for so long, the smell became indelible in your brain, your senses immediately causing you to retrace back to ieiri’s bad habit. even now, as you stood in front of your beloved — even as his distant musk flew up to your head as it had just barely intoxicated you, the smell of cigarettes and menthol was still unforgettable. you remembered the scratch in your throat as you hummed in agreement, your voice uneasy and raspy from misuse as gojo looked back up at shoko. “. . that’s true.”

eyes fluttering closed, you let out a small huff as you heard ijichi debriefing about something related to nanami, not that you could pay attention anyways. the voices and the images and the downright fuckery that went on in your brain was too loud for you to focus on anything else, including satoru’s face right in front of yours as you stopped recalling the transpired events as your head bowed down even further.

“look at me,” you heard him say. he gave your shoulders a gentle shake as his hand snaked up from your arm to your chin, trying to redirect your attention back to him no matter how much your head resisted. “where’s my girl at? don’t be shy, jus’ talk to me.”

your eyebrows crinkled as they met in the middle, the slight bit of skin creasing at contact when you finally looked up at him. his lashes ridged around his upper eyelids, pupils gazing ever so delicately as they softened at the sight of you. his thumb turned to face vertically, grazing your lip as he cocked his head; and then, he smiled. what once was so comforting long ago, where you two would spend mornings lazing around in bed as you’d forget about the first years, forget about yaga, forget about responsibilities. it was like you were in that high school bliss again, unable to care about anything more than the person right in front of you — even if they were drooling all over your arm. his smile, canines on display, only made you feel sicker about what you knew.

he pulled you into his chest slowly ( giving you enough time to thrash out of his embrace and tell him to knock it off, even if it’d hurt his pride a bit ) and as he rested his chin on you, he mumbled against your ear, “you can cry it out, you know.”

“‘m not crying.” you smacked his shoulder, pulling away as you sniffled — an obviously very convincing sign of totally not getting upset.

he snorted, “okay ma’am, don’t need the attitude — i’m just saying you can if you needed to.” he kept you at an arms length before he tilted your chin up again, causing you to roll your eyes and give him a sharp huff.

“gojo—!” you heard from around the corner. a high, stern voice interrupting the small bickering back and forth between you two. his hand faltered on your face, his thumb no longer brushing your cheek as your body tilted to the side only to find utahime walking in your line of sight. her eyebrows raised at the two of you, her mouth quirking to the side in shock as she sputtered, “not to ruin the moment but,” she shrugged slightly; a way of telling you indirectly, ‘it’s time.’

“few more minutes ‘hime, and i’ll be out.” he called out singsonging along as she walked away.

“don’t call me that,” she repeated in the same cadence, her voice collecting more distance the further she retreated — allowing you guys to have a moment before they prepare to go out.

satoru turned back towards you, his smirk growing wider as you looked away, your hand grabbing the one glued to your faced as you savored the warmth in between his fingers. “ah, there she is,” he teased, “my girl.”

“‘toru?”

he hummed, his hands squeezing yours. your eyes zipped up to his. “please,” you pouted at him, “be careful, yeah?”

he laughed as he shook his head in amusement. taking a few steps back, he extended both of your arms before ceremoniously letting go. “i think it’ll be okay — i am the strongest, after all,” gojo chuckled.

you managed a meager, bittersweet smile as you let out a wry laugh. no matter what kind of sounds left your lips, he always relished in them knowing only he could pull them out of you. whether it’s a small laugh, a full on abundance of giggles, whimpers along with your squirming about that he’d always tease you for; satoru never failed to appreciate them. even your groans of discomfort when he’d piss you off, all it took was some sweet talking and a trail of kisses along your jaw and he’d bounce back all sunshine and rainbows.

it wasn’t your voice or your body ( although those were major bonuses, might he have added ), and it wasn’t even the way you’d purse your lips to stop an embarrassed smile from painting itself on your face whenever he would make a stupid joke ( another thing he had loved about you ) — it was the fact that you saw him. he wasn’t the strongest when he was with you — he was ‘toru, only satoru.

he began to walk away, his shoes tapping against the hard floors as you watched his white robe flow behind him. you swallowed back a small whine at the back of your throat as you watched him leave; his hand about to slide the double doors open until you called for him once more. “satoru—?”

“huh?” he let out an airy laugh, mixed in with the syllable.

you put a hand on your hip, swallowing to try and moisten your dry throat. you let out an awkward laugh, “i love you — so much.”

gojo put a hand to his mouth before sending it off with you as he blew you a dramatic air kiss. “i love you, always.”

and with that, he turned away; the door sliding open with a satisfying sound before it closed behind him. left alone, with your thoughts only growing louder. you couldn’t help but scrunch your eyes shut, your hand clutching your head as your fingers buried themselves under your hair.

behind that door, gojo stood as he took a deep breath. he had burned your face into his memory, his brain fading back into images of your eyes — so piercing, always searching into his own, whether that was for the better or worst remained unknown in both his and your mind. as always, you had come, you had seen, and you had loved.

as he walked out to where utahime and gakuganji were waiting, he couldn’t help but think about you. satoru gojo could be held down by anybody, with all of their might — and be stabbed with sharpest of swords and the strongest of curses, but he’d never stop loving you. because you had never stopped loving him. satoru gojo had never stopped being seen by you; for he wasn’t the strongest, merely satoru.

𐙚 taglist ; @seternic @sad-darksoul

𐙚 requests are open — june twenty second, 2024

[theunaveragepsychoticbitch]

This Blows

[Blowjobs. Messy ones. AMAB reader and Barbatos, non-established relationship, crack-ish, multiple orgasms, swallowing cum, and you put Barbatos on your shoulders]

Pt. 2

Barbatos, shivering and red-faced above you as his cock rests on you cheek, wet with your spit.

The want in your half-lidded gaze made his cock jump and drool, and the slow way you dragged your tongue from base to tip and back left his head spinning. Resting it on your tongue while he gripped your hair through his orgasm, spurts covering your lips and face, dripping down into your mouth-

"..[ame]. [Name]? Hello?"

You blink, and realize you'd been staring at the demon butler while imagining his cock in your mouth. You were discussing tea leaves, how did..?

"Ahem, ah. Sorry Barbatos- please, continue. I was just lost in thought, swear."

He smiles, a bit awkwardly, but continues. You try your hardest to pay attention this time.

----

"Fuck."

Your eyes roll back as Barbatos throats your cock again. For someone who's usually so clean, his blowjobs were bordering on ridiculously messy. Spit dribbled down his chin and connected in milky strands from your cock to his lips. He had tears in his eyes and cum from previous orgasms caught on his lashes. Flushed a deep red, with his hair thoroughly mussed from how many times you ran your fingers through it...

He couldn't be more beautiful.

You cry out, rocking forward reflexively, fucking deep into his throat as he gagged around your length, ignoring the pain in his jaw as he tried to take you deeper, greedy for more of you, more of that stretched-out feeling in his throat.

He pulled off, gasping. Using the the tip of his tongue, he cleaned your tip, loving the salty taste of your cum.

"Darling.. "

He looked at you, eyed glazed with desire.

"...am I boring you?"

Once again, you snap back to the present.

Barbatos' face is as stoic as ever, but you can sense a sad undertone in his words. He's too polite to outright say anything, but you can tell you've hurt his feelings.

"Barbatos... Oh, I'm sorry. Really. You're not boring me, I was just... Lost in thought." Which wasn't a lie!

"May I ask what's troubling you, then?"

Fuckkkkkk. What the hell were you sposed to say? 'Sorry Barbs, I can't stop thinking about you gagging on my cock. Please, tell me more about this desert!'

You laugh and awkwardly scratch the back of your head, trying to think up a lie when you're saved by the bell.

Barbatos looks at his watch, sending a rather woeful look your way. "I must start on the Lord's lunch. I will see you later, [Name]."

You wave until he's out of sight, then plop down on the nearest surface in defeat. You've got to get control of yourself. But how?

----

Days later, you find yourself in the kitchen helping Barbatos prepare for a tea party later that day, and you're proud to announce that you haven't thought about him sucking your dick (or you sucking his!) Once!

... because you did it for hours last night. And have been the night before any meetups with him.

But a win is a win! Barbatos seems quite happy you've been paying him so much extra attention lately, and if you continue like this, you'll be fine.

Just, make sure you don't pay too much attention to his ass when he bends over to put stuff in the oven. Or how cute the blush on his face is when he laughs. Or how much you wish he'd lose a few layers. All of them, preferably.

And definitely, definitely don't think about how amazing it'd feel to have him on his knees, desperately deepthroating you, testing your combined luck to see how many orgasms you can get in before somebody catches you both.

"...and I actually quite enjoy- oh. Um, [Name]?"

Fuck! You were doing so well. "Dammit, I didn't mean to-"

"You're... You seem to.." he gestures loosely to your pants, turning away to hide his blush. You look down, blushing hard with the force of your mortification when you realize...

You were hard. To the point where your pants were uncomfortable, actually.

There was an awkward silence. What could you say? Should you crack a joke? Run away in tears? Whip it out and hope for the best??

Barbatos makes the decision for you when he speaks. "[Name]... All those times you spaced off, what.. was on your mind?"

A strange question that you were sure would lead to an embarrassing plot twist. You accept your fate though, knowing that a lie would get you nowhere at this point.

"Oh, er, uh... you. And me. Us... doing... things."

He nods, catching your meaning. "When you would space off, I first thought you were getting bored of me. But the last few times, with the way you were looking at me, I started to consider a different possibility."

He glances between your eyes and your boner again, blushing more and chuckling. "Can I say my guess was correct?"

You're already mortified, why did he have to tease you on top of it?

Head heavy with shame, you nod.

Snirking, Barbatos' gaze grows heavy, and he takes his time checking you out, studying your body language and planning his next move. He approaches, giving you time to back out before trapping you against the counter with his arms. He pushes up against you, in between your legs, and tilts your chin up to face him.

"May I make your fantasies come true?"

You suck in a breath; you couldn't say yes fast enough.

Your lips meet in a sensual kiss, tongues dancing in each other's mouths. As the kiss progressed, the two of you nonverbally agreed that it was too hot for clothes. The kiss turned to a frenzy, passion at the forefront of your minds as buttons popped and belts were unbuckled.

"Darling," pulling away from the kiss, Barbatos rests his head on yours and asks,"tell me: what were we doing in your latest daydream?" His gaze is intense, and looking into the bright green of his irises, the details seem to spill from your mouth on their own.

As you speak, he kisses his way down your body, leaving love bites in his tracks. Down on his knees- right where you want him -The stares at you through thick eyelashes, pulling down your boxers with his teeth. Your cock springs out, narrowly missing him.

The hunger in his gaze makes you nervous, but laced through it all lies excitement. He can't seem to take his eyes off it, one hand reaching into his own pants as he takes you in the other.

"I love it." He kisses your tip, precum staining his lips. "It's perfect. You're perfect." He kisses it again, taking it into his mouth and sucking and licking and making you twitch and whine.

"I wish you would have told me sooner. I've been thinking about doing this for a while myself." The reveal catches you off guard, but you don't get a chance to truly react when he suddenly takes you to the base, nose smashing up against your pelvis, and its all you can do not to cum on the spot.

He sets a pace, bobbing his head in time with his own strokes, getting sloppier as his hips twitched harder and harder, threatening to make him come undone in his own hand. Unable to hold it off any longer, you grab his head and hold him to your base, nutting straight down his throat. He reached his own climax in turn, cupping the head of his shaft as he twitched.

You're both left breathing hard when you let go, but you're not done with him yet. Just in case this was a dream, you wanted it to be the best you've ever had.

Crouching down, you take Barbatos by his ass and lift him, surprising the butler and yourself. You rest him on your shoulders, and take his sensitive, dripping cock into your mouth.

He gasps, and it's like your first fantasy all over again. But better.

He's rocking against your face, moaning your name while tears of pleasure cascade down his face. All too soon, he's crashing through another orgasm, cumming down your throat this time, and panting hard all over again.

You set him down on the counter, hoping to catch your respective breaths when an alarm goes off.

You and Barbatos look at his watch together, horror painted all over your faces.

The smell of cum and burnt delights met your noses, and a myriad of curious voices met your ears.

It was time for the tea party.

You lock eyes, share a quick, sticky kiss, and jump into action making this mess disappear.

----------

A/N: Fucking hell, writing that was so fun I'm leaving an author's note! Lmao. Enjoy<3