#tw. boot worship

[mzzledmutt]

—GOOD DOG

starring.ᐟ dabi; touya todoroki x reader

synopsis.ᐟ you are a good dog, a good dog does whatever they're asked to do. isn't that right?

warnings.ᐟ SMUT, fem!reader, boot licking, boot worship, unprotected vaginal sex, d/s dynamics, excessive use of mutt + dog, degradation, praise, oral (m + f receiving), spanking, overstimulation, edging, multiple orgasms, collar + leash

word count.ᐟ 3.1k words

m.mutt 𐂯 this is a little nasty, i had an idea.

THERE’S no reason to look up.

You can feel the cruel, cerulean scowl staring down at your knelt, pathetic form. You don’t dare look up. Keeping your eyes focused on your hands which rested upon your thighs.

The concrete floors beneath you already beginning to bruise your delicate skin. Dabi is standing before you, the only thing in your sight is his heavy leather boots. The room is silent, only making you more unnerved.

“Eyes up.” Slowly, your head raises until you make eye contact. Dabi is clearly unpleased with you. His jaw is tense, eyes narrowed as he looks down at you. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?” His ragged voice is full of ice, something you expected.

Two weeks ago, on a Tuesday, Dabi suddenly brought up a mission. It was too casual, just relaxing on the couch before the announcement. You’re quick to begin crying, hugging around his waist as you plead with him. He doesn’t care for your cries.

Only rubbing your back with a roll of his eyes. “You act like ‘m not comin’ back.” He grumbled. He gave you the week to spend as much time with him and last Monday, it was time. He stood in the entryway, holding you close to his chest. Your fingers gripped his shirt, feeling as if he’d slip away at any moment.

With a final kiss to your forehead, Touya pulls away. “It’s only a week, dollface. I’ll be back.” Before he leaves, he runs down the list of rules he always gave you whenever he had to go.

Rule one, you were to stay in the apartment, it was too dangerous for you to be outdoors. This wasn’t a constant rule, you were allowed out alone and with company while he was home. While away, he couldn’t risk anyone getting ahold of you.

Rule two, you were to give him daily updates, at least four times a day. Although he has many ways to ensure your safety, it gives him a warmth in his chest when you send him a good morning text, describing your dream and how much you miss him.

Rule three, you were not to open the door for anyone. This rule had a few exceptions. Hawks and the league had specific knocks to confirm their identities. They were the only ones you were allowed to let in or speak to.

Rule four, you were to stay away from the ended and social media while he was away. Mainly his way of ensuring you don’t see any of the atrocities he may commit. 

Rule five, you were not allowed to touch yourself. No toys, no fingers, no pornography. Nothing.

He was incredibly disappointed when inspecting his cameras in a run-down motel room. Watching as your hips twitched and ground against a pillow, sugary moans spilling off of your lips.

The same disappointment was all over his face. “I’m sorry—!” His rough hand grabs your cheeks, startling you. “Did I ask you to speak?” You shake your head, eyes welling with tears. “So, why’re ya’ talking, dog?” You stay silent, pout on your lips and tears in your eyes.

His icy blue eyes scan over your face, smirking when he locks with your watery eyes. Your face is forced to the side as he pushes you away. “I do everything for you. Everything to keep you safe and you can’t follow one simple fuckin’ rule.”

Dabi crouched down to pick up the heavy chain attached to your matching collar. He tugs you hard, throwing you off your balance as you’re forced to crawl behind him. You’re led to your bedroom where he sits on a chair and you stay on your knees.

He clears his throat, shuffling in his seat. You look up at him wide-eyed, awaiting your order. “You’re gonna work for my cock, you understand that?” You nod. “Speak up.”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Good, doggy.”

“Now, get to work.” Dabi pushes his right boot forward. You look up at him, unsure if you were misreading his command. He tilts his head down, wordlessly awaiting your obedience. Slowly, you lean further down to the floor.

The scent of earthiness, metal, and leather fills your nose. He adorned thick, black leather, steel-toed boots. Your personal favorite in his collection. The boots were intimidating on the man, making him appear taller and much rougher.

You're hesitant as you stick your tongue out, slowly swiping across the material. “Good, doggy. Keep goin’.” His praises encourage you, allowing you to become more comfortable as your tongue laps at the leather.

Dabi's expression hasn’t changed since he entered, his eyes only softened as he watched you clean his leather. His left hand creeping to squeeze his hardening cock, throbbing beneath his jeans.

“This is where you belong, isn’t it? On your knees with my boot in your mouth.” You stare at him wide-eyed. “I asked you a question.” The chain is pulled taut, squeezing your collar around your throat.

“Yes! This is where I belong, sir.” You cry out, at the sudden asphyxiation. 

You’re focused on pleasing him, trying to force away the dull throb in your panties. Tongue dragging across ash and blood, spit shining the black leather. “Off it.” You stop with a whine, sitting back on your haunches. 

You pull away, a trail of spit stuck to the leather and your lips. “Oh, look at you. S’fuckin’ pretty.” Dabi caresses your cheek before hooking his thumb into your mouth. You suck in the digit, holding blurred eye contact as your tears continue to flow. A taunting smirk is spread over his scarred lips.

“Stop your cryin’, mutt. I’ve hardly done anything to you.” That was true. Dabi could be much meaner if he truly wanted to be, he was just toying with you for a moment. Relishing in the tears that roll down your chubby cheeks.

“I want you to ride it. Take those pretty panties off and ride my fuckin’ boot.” You follow his orders, slipping the soaked fabric down your thighs and off onto the floor. Dabi’s hand cradles your cheek so he can watch your fave contort in pleasure as your clit makes contact.

Your hips twitch as you whimper, your hands gripping his hips to balance yourself. “M’yeah?” Dabi teases. Your hips swivel along the boot, stimulating your throbbing clit. Sharp quick pants leave your parted lips as you mindlessly hump the leather.

Drool beginning to spill from your lips, dribbling onto the denim-clad thigh of Dabi. “Pleasepleasepleaseplease—“ Your absentminded pleas force Dabi to unzip his jeans, pulling his cock out from his boxers. He slowly strokes himself, scarred hand languidly moving up and down.

“You like this don’t you? You love bein’ a disgusting dog f’me.” You nod quickly, your grip on him tightening. “Yes! Yes, I love being your dog, Dabi!” He chuckles at your enthusiasm before groaning as he nudges his piercing.

Your cunt’s slick, slipping easily if the material as wanton moans freely leave you. You’re getting close, the knot in your stomach becoming something you can’t ignore. Hips stuttering, nails digging into his skin and your chest heaving, Dabi knew you were teetering on the edge.

He just wanted to see what you would do.

Your ministrations don’t stop, only motivated more as you watch him jerk off. You’re so close, if you just add a little more pressure you’ll surely cum. Just a little bit more—

“Off it.” The look on Dabi’s force forces you back to your kneeled position.

You cry out at the lack of stimulation, your poor cunt clenching around nothing. “Look at my good dog. Learnin’ to listen to orders.” Dabi takes his fingers from your mouth, moving to pet your hair.

“While you’re down there, suck my cock, yeah?” He’s so uncaring as he leans back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head. So, your nimble fingers make quick work crawling up his thighs before grabbing his cock.

He hisses at your grip, head tilting back. You lean over his lap, puckering your lips as you spit onto the throbbing head. A sharp groan gets stuck in his throat as you begin stroking him, hands twisting in opposite directions as they slide up and down.

You give him a wild grin, thighs clenching each time he moans. “I said suck it, mutt.” You follow his orders, taking the head between your lips and swirling your tongue around him.

“There you go, baby. Suck that big dick f’me.” The metallic taste of his piercings and the saltiness of precum fills your mouth, encouraging you to take him deeper. You gag around him, spilling tears down your cheeks.

“Good,” His hand comes down to hold your hair, slowly moving you up and down. “You’re doin’ s’good, doggy.” Dabi pants, cursing you under his breath. Your space wasn’t enough for the man, he strengthened the grip on your hair, forcing you further down.

Your nails dig into his skin as you choke on him. Hands slapping against his thighs as he roughly fucks into your throat. “Just like that—fuck! You love it, don’t you? Gaggin’ on my fuckin’ cock.” His voice begins to sound whiney as he reaches his orgasm.

You’re forced all the way down, nose nuzzling his pelvis as he cums. Spilling rope after rope of his cum down your throat, loud groans leaving him. Dabi lets you go, allowing you to pull off quickly as you cough.

Your face is soaked in tears and spit, making you the image of perfection to him. He watches as you pant and cough, catching your breath. “You look so pretty,” Dabi strokes your hair. “You looked s’fuckin’ pretty suckin’ my cock.” He wrenches your head back, roughly tugging on your hair.

“Open.” Your lips greedily part, tongue lolling out as he spits onto it. “Don’t you fuckin’ swallow.” He snarled, pinching your cheeks together. You pull your tongue back into your mouth, salivas mixing on your tongue. “Lay down.” He pats his thigh, readjusting himself to accommodate you.

You play over his lap, head and legs dangling over. Dabi adjusts you in his lap, pulling your ass up for his comfort. A heated hand rubs over the dentin’s skin of your ass. “Such a pretty thing you are.” He grips your ass.

Dabi is quick, lifting his hand from your skin before striking you hard. A muffled shout leaves you, determined to follow his orders. He repeated the motion on the other cheek, not giving you much time to relax.

Smack after smack after smack, your nails are digging into his leg you attempt to stay quiet. The blood is rushing to your head as you hang, making you dizzy from his hits and your position.

Your ass is bright red and sore, a product of his heavy and heated hand. “How ya’ feelin’?” He leans down, entering your peripheral. “Your ass feelin’ okay?” Your eyes are blurry and unfocused, and your body still tense and shaking. “Can’t talk, doggy?” He teases with a laugh.

Dabi sits you up on his lap, holding onto your hips to steady you. “Swallow for me.” You follow his orders, sticking out your tongue to prove so. “Such a good pet, hmm?” He pets your hair, allowing you to keen into his touch.

“Think ya’ deserve my cock now, dollface?” Dabi asks, wiping the tears from your face. “I deserve whatever you give me.” You reply with a sniffle. “That’s what I wanna hear.” The dark-haired man pulls you in for a kiss, allowing you to wrap your arms around his neck.

The kiss is sloppy, full of spit and tongue. Dabi’s hands wander from your face down to your bruised ass, pinching at the sensitive skin. Your pained moans against his lips make his cock throb, leaking pre cum against his stomach.

In a smooth motion, Dabi lifts you into his arms and stands to his feet, carrying you over to the bed. You’re dropped unceremoniously, only for his lips to travel down your chin to your neck then your collarbones.

He unclips the chain from your collar, dropping it to the floor before attending to your breast. His tender kisses to your soft breast are interrupted as he bites, leaving a perfect imprint of his soft teeth. Dabi grins at you as his tongue lolls out to soothe the skin. His skillful tongue swirls around your nipples before he sucks the bud between his lips.

Your back arches in pleasure, hips bucking in desperation. He sinfully moans around your nipple, teeth grazing the hardened nub causing you to shiver. “P-please, Dabi.” Your pleading is nearly silent, voice just above a whisper.

The stark contrast of his warm mouth to the cool room is jarring. Dabi pulls away, straddling your waist as he looks down upon you. “What was that, I didn’t hear you?” The man taunts. “Dabi, please…” You pout, grabbing at his arm. He smacks your hands away, dismounting your body.

Before you can question what he was doing, you’re flipped onto your stomach, effectively disorienting you. His hands are all over you, positioning the way he wants you to be. Ass up, face down with a beautiful arch in your back. Dabi smacks your ass, admiring his work.

Your pretty soaked cunt was on full display, dripping sweet nectar down your plush thighs. “Now,” Dabi straddles your legs, positing himself behind you. “Speak up, tell me what you want.” 

Your whines are muffled by the blanket. “I can’t hear you.” He chides as he lifts your head from the mattress. “Please, I need it so badly. I was only touching myself because I missed you, I’m sorry for disobeying you!” 

“That’s a good pet.” The tip of his heavy pierced cock nudges against your dripping cunt. “So fuckin’ soaked already,” He groans pressing the head in. “Shit, baby. Take it f’me, you can do that yeah?” Tears prick your eyes again as he pushes further in, your tight heat stretching to accommodate his size.

He continues to sink his thick cock into your warm, wet walls. Stretching you out to fit him snugly. You yelp as the head of his cock smacks into your cervix, the dull pain spreading through your pelvis and stomach.

You grip the sheets, attempting to pull yourself away. “Don’t fuckin’ run from me.” Dabi rasps, gripping your waist and pulling you back. “Fuuuuck!” Your eyes roll back as you squirm in his grip. “You wanted this, take it.”

Dabi’s pace is quick, not giving you a chance to adjust. He’s pounding into you, nails digging 

“Been gone for a week and you're that like a fuckin’ virgin? She missed me that bad?” He pants, leaning over your back. “Y-yes yes, I missed you so fucking much!” A hard smack is landed across your already aching ass.

“I’m not talkin’ to you, mutt.” Dabi spat, smacking the other cheek, relishing in how you clenched around him. “I’m talkin’ to this sinful fuckin’ pussy. Creamin’ ‘round my cock.” Your slick sounds of his cock pistoning into your cunt was sickening.

The rigged feeling of his piercings pleasantly rubs against your g-spot. “Greedy little cunt couldn’t wait to get some dick, now you have it and you wanna run?” Your hands reach back to push against his stomach, begging him to be gentle to your aching pussy.

Dabi grabs your wrist, pinning them back and pulling you back to him. He rests his chin against your shoulder as he thrusts into your core in this new position. “Oh my god,” Your drawl, head rolling to the side. “You’re so fuckin’ deep.”

He breathily chuckles against your ear, your moans music to his ears. “What do ya’ say?” His hand coming up to cup your breast. “Thank you, Dabi.” You sputter between strained moans.

“Nuh uh, what’s my name?” Dabi huffs against your ear, nipping at the cartilage. “Th-thank you, sir!” You sob, bowing against him. “That’s a good, pet.”

His thrusts increase, heavy balls smacking against your ass. The splitting feeling of him inside makes your cunt throb, and your poor aching clit twitches with neglect. You were getting close again, orgasm soon approaching with his harsh thrusts.

“Shit—please! I can’t, sluh—fuck! Slow down!” You cry and he lets you go, forcing your face into the mattress. “Ya’ gonna cum? Huh? Awww poor baby, who said you couldn’t do that?” He leans over you mercilessly thrusts abusing your dripping hole.

“Nonono—please! Been s’good, I wanna cum!” The words are muffled but, the message is clear. He only taunts you further, reaching down to play with your clit. “Mmm’not yet.” 

“Wanna—shit—feel you clench on me some more. This tight cunt is fuckin’ addicting.” Dabi’s orgasm was approaching, his balls tightening as he continued his pace. “I’ll let ya’ know when you can, just enjoy it for now.”

Your walls flutter around him as his thumb circles your clit, pressing on the nub to feel your twitch against him.

“Shit—‘m gonna cum, pretty. Gonna breed this pretty cunt, you like that?” You nod, pleasure rendering you unable to speak. Dabi doesn’t punish you, too focused on pumping you full of his cum.

“You want me to breed this pretty cunny, don’t you? Make you mama, hah?” His teeth graze your shoulder before his tongue laps at the skin. 

“C’mon, cum for me, pretty. Be a good dog f’me and cum.” He growls as he bottoms out in you. A ragged groan leaves the man as he cums, spilling rivulets of cum into your awaiting womb. You cum with him, overstimulation setting in quickly from being denied for so long.

Your body spasms as he lays over you, bodies now against the mattress. He’s buried deep within you, still twitching and pumping you full of his seed. You’re delirious, eyes hazy and stuffed too full to comprehend your surroundings.

You’re left panting and sweaty, too tired to get up and move. Eventually, Dabi pulls out, whistling at the stream of white that drips out of you. He spreads your ass, dipping down to lap at your cunt. “Baby, no…” You whine with overstimulation.

His tongue delves into your holes, dripping up the mixtures of both of your arousals. Dabi licks a stripe up from your cunt to your asshole, pulling away with a smile. “God, you taste so good, baby.” You’re still limp against the bed, tired from his pounding.

“We should,” Dabi takes a deep breath. “We should clean up.” He presses a kiss to your shoulder. “You did so good. You only ever act right when I’m mean to you, huh?” You mumble something unintelligible making him laugh. He rolls off of you, pulling you to play on his scarred chest.

Your eyes are shut, breathing slowly to regulate yourself. He gently strokes your hair, smiling down at you.

“Such a good dog for me.”

[tonythepizzaguy]

a crooked touch part 19: the only winning move

[eddie-munsons-blog]

Who said my sins had to be with my whorisms!!!!

I am a villain!!!

Of course, you are. So dangerous, aren't ya?

Practically has me shaking in my boots. 😏

[delirious-donna]

tw: katsuki x female reader, pro-hero, early 30s katsuki, pure smut, pussy drunk katsuki, finishing untouched, implied multiple rounds, implied unprotected sex, seriously I was just on a filthy rampage 😌

It had happened so fast; so fast that you weren’t sure when your intent had been entirely disregarded in favour of your hot-headed husband’s desire to devour you whole. Not that you were really complaining.

Your phone slid onto the counter, anticipation thrumming through you knowing that another patrol had ended successfully with nothing but a few scrapes and scratches to deal with. Child’s play at this point for the number two pro hero and the love of your life.

Heavy boots stomped towards the apartment door; each step echoed in time with the second heartbeat between your legs and you clenched them shut for a hit of friction. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough, not without his body slotted against yours. Hard steel enveloped by your soft curves.

The overwhelming swell of lust was immediate when the door opened, a head of ashy blond spikes dipped low appeared and it felt as if his presence sucked the very oxygen from the room. His cumbersome gauntlets were missing—likely left behind at the agency—but his hero suit remained. It was covered in fine dust, thick black streaks of dirt darkened his biceps and sweat lingered on his brow and shoulders as if he had run here… had he run here?

It was hardly a new scenario, this man was your husband and the routine of his dangerous line of work was well accustomed to both of you, but there was always the adrenaline that came after the ‘fight’. It consumed you both, dragged you under raging, lust-fuelled waves until there was no rational thoughts left—only the need.

Katsuki was your air, your reason to draw breath; all you wanted was to see him happy, loved, content with the world he built for you both. Those were the desires you always harboured, right now, you were focused on your baser instincts.

You needed to swallow him down, have his fat tip punish the soft tissue at the back of your throat until you were slurping down his seed like the greedy beast you felt like. Dammit, you were already licking your lips in sweet anticipation. The phantom salty musk taste whet your mouth with runny saliva, and he smirked when he caught your eye.

Honestly, you had expected to settle low and spread on your haunches. You wanted to worship him whilst he towered overhead. His sheer size and frame were mammoth and imposing; broad shoulders and arms thick with golden-hued muscles, a barrelled chest heaving with every inhale and his nostrils flared as confidence beat against his conscious thought. Bakugou Katsuki was a pure powerhouse of a man, a man of action first and foremost, and never more was that true when you felt his deeply calloused palm grab at the back of your neck.

His mouth slanted atop yours, tongue bullying its way into your mewling mouth as you grabbed at his shoulders to stabilise yourself against the force of being hauled against his chest. His unique glycerin laced sweat mingled with the spice of his soap, filling your nose with only him whilst caramel burst over your tastebuds.

Katsuki overwhelmed your senses so easily that you had no idea you were being walked backwards towards the bedroom. He boots thudded as he kicked out of them, stalking forward with no sign of halting the dominance of his kisses, the grope of your hips, waist, breasts. He never stopped, refused to waver and you were simply swept up in the rip tide that he was his momentum.

Instead of falling to your knees in the hallway like you intended, you found your spine pressed against rich brushed cotton sheets, bare and vulnerable to his attentive gaze. It had you squirming, reacting to every simple brush of his fingers on your heated skin. It did not go unnoticed, nothing every did with Katsuki.

You whined, low and throaty when he pathed a wet trail of kisses down your front, stopping at your breasts and lapping at your peaked nipples in turn. He showed no sign of shucking out of his hero suit, and whilst you adored him decked out for business, right here and now, it simply wouldn’t stand.

“Kat—please...”

His crimson eyes rolled in feigned annoyance, but the smirk couldn’t hide exactly how pleased he was that you wanted to see more of him, like he didn’t already know… the menace.

“For a kiss,” he bartered with a smug smile.

“My fucking pleasure,” you replied, eliciting an amused huff of the hero hovering over you.

Grabbing at the front of his compression shirt, you pulled him down until your lips crashed against his. The kiss was a mixture of sweet and salty, the pace alternating between slow and steady to hurried and frantic. You knew every lick to make him groan, every nip at his bottom lip that would stir the beast within until it roared with the compulsion to take over.

“Cussing is my vice, get your own. Now stop complainin’ and let me eat you out.”

With those rough words, the top half of his clothes swiftly disappeared into a dark corner leaving him bare-chested and magnificent. A literal wall of muscle with a liberal smattering of scars, and it stole your breath to gaze upon him.

Your foot braced against his toned pec, taking in the sight of the ash blond God that moved to kneel between your thighs, drinking him down in intoxicated delight.

Katsuki kissed along your calf until his nose pressed against the fat of your thigh, a low moan issued from his throat sending sparks dancing in your veins. Sometimes you could hardly believe it; the big burly pro hero known for his surly, no-nonsense attitude was so easily affected by being buried in your pussy—pussy drunk if you will. It would make you chuckle if he wasn’t in the process of scattering your wits to the wind with his hungry mouth.

Time ceased all meaning as you gave into Katsuki’s every whim, giving up on the keening pleads for you to return the favour after your second orgasm broke onto his awaiting tongue, slick slurped down his swallowing throat. His fingers tightened into the fat of your backside, spreading you further apart with each massage of his warm calloused hands.

He took his time in licking a fat wet strip over your soaked cunt, tugging on the puffy flesh of your folds with insistent lips. Guttural groans vibrated against your throbbing clit, your bud tender from the array of orgasms the hulking male pulled from you without showing sign of stopping.

Your toes sank into the flexing muscles of his broad shoulders, sensing their every ripple as he prodded once more at your gushing entrance. Slick already coated his fingers, drenched up to the knuckles as he pressed against your velvet walls.

“So good—taste so fuckin’ delicious,” he grunted, lips dancing across your sweat dappled skin with every word.

“Oh, ‘suki—oh god. Please, one more.”

Eyes of brightest ruby snapped up to lock with your own, widening almost imperceptibly as his entire body jerked, once then twice. His digits pressed firmly against your front wall, massaging the engorged tissue of your pleasure spot in earnest until you broke apart at the seams once more.

So blissed out from the release of tension low in your belly, you barely realised when the weight on the bed dipped and moved, Katsuki rolled sideways on a panted breath to reveal a large damp stain on the front of his black combat trousers.

“Fuck—I… shit-I need a minute. Got me busting in my damn pants like I’m still a fuckin’ horny teenager, sweetheart.”

You chuckled but quickly schooled yourself into some semblance of a stern expression. “You’re saying it’s my fault, Bakugou?”

“Don’t you Bakugou me, Mrs Bakugou. Don’t think that cause I ruined my trousers I’m not going to ruin your insides. Just gotta give me five minutes,” he huffed, standing to peel away the sticky mess from his cum-covered groin.

You paid for that attitude… over and over until you were as ruined as he promised.

[etfrin]

— ᴄᴀɴ ᴀ ɢᴀʏ ɢɪʀʟ ɢᴇᴛ ᴀɴ ᴀᴍᴇɴ !

regina george x virgin! fem! reader

navigation | masterlist

tw: partying, cunnilingus, loosing virginity (reader), fingering, mean-ish! Regina, dom-ish! Regina , semi-public sex, scissoring, multiple orgasms, hints of overstimulation if you squint, college! Regina, face riding, dub-con if you squint in the beginning, <33 | lmk if i forgot anything

dividers : @cafekitsune @rookthornesartistry @saradika

a/n: first time writing wlw, be kind 💋❤️

You pretend the red cup you held had vodka. It's water. Boring yet the safest choice for a party like this, loud, filled with drunks humping each other. None of them will remember the night tomorrow. You will though. Because you weren't drunk like them. And you certainly didn't enjoy the party.

You came to socialize but within minutes of saying hello to everyone you were tired. There's one girl you haven't seen yet, the queen of your college, Regina George. You weren't the only one who thought that this party was lame.

On second thought, maybe not, because Regina George was on the dance floor swaying while holding her red cup high in the air. You swallow as heat begins to pool between your legs. Fuck, she was sexy. Her pink top, black boots, perfectly styled hair.

Regina George was Aphrodite in disguise.

Your panties get wet with your slick as you lean on the wall and watch her. You rub your thighs subtly and wonder if liquor would give you the courage to talk to her. You close your eyes, wondering how the conversation will even go.

It ends terribly with her laughing at your face. You open your eyes and let out a squeak. Aphrodite (Regina) in front of you in all her glory was smirking down at you. “Hello,” you squeaked out, your voice abnormally high. You feel your face heating up. Stop being an obvious fuck, you tell yourself.

“Hi,” she leans in, her expensive vanilla scent attacking your senses, much more overwhelming than the reek of vodka. She grins, “You're cute.” She whispered, coming in closer, pinning you to the wall, “You look like you wanna play with me, sweetheart.”

You let out a surprised laugh, trying to play it off. You didn't need her rejection, not after the shitty day you had. “I am not sure- ah!”

Regina giggled her hand under your skirt. Her fingers pull your panties aside. “I don't think you're this wet for a man, sweetie.” Her thumb finds your clit and she pressed into the sensitive pearl. Her eyes showed that she enjoyed the gasp you let out.

“Regina,” you moan, as she rubs fast circles onto your clit. Your juices coating her fingers. She hums in response, “I am not hearing a no.”

Regina George begins to fuck her fingers into you. Your walls are sucking her digits in. You let out a moan, your eyes rolling back as she drags her dainty, long fingers against your walls. She pressed into your G-spot, finding it like an expert. You cry out, your legs nearly giving out because of how sensitive you are.

Regina pulls back and you let out a whimper of pure desperation. “But that's not a yes either,” the goddess said, her fingers glistening with your juices. Her tongue peeks out to lick the nectar of your cunt off her fingertips. You moan at the sight, your pussy walls pulsating.

“Yes- play with me,” you consent.

She smirks with triumph. “Good girl.”

She brings you upstairs, pulling you into an empty room and pushing you onto the bed. She lets her clothes drop on the floor, revealing her body for worship. Your mouth waters as you look at her. Fucking delicious of a meal she was.

Regina straddles you. “Played with girls before?” She questions, her hand tilting your chin upwards to look at her in the eyes. You shake your head, nervous.

“But I want to…” you admit shakily, wondering if your lack of experience would be a turn-off for her.

She pushes you down on the bed, a hand on your shoulder to keep you pinned. She took off your skirt along with your soaked panties. “I'll make you cum several times tonight,” she remarks, “but let's see how much of a mess you can create for the first time. Don't be too loud, pretty angel.”

She spreads your legs and lets her body fall onto yours. Her soaking cunt pressed onto yours. You let out a gasp at the feeling, your hands clutching the bedsheets. She grinds into you slowly, overwhelming your senses with pleasure. Her clit rubbed against yours with every small thrust of her hips. You whine, pathetic and needy. You wanted her to go faster.

Your hips begin to rut against her, fastening the pace. She lets out an annoyed huff from your sudden enthusiasm and dominance. She holds your jaw with her hand, her nails digging into your cheek. You stop your desperate movement and wait for her to speak.

The silence was loud enough. She pressed a wet kiss to your lips. You laid pliant for her to use. A toy for Regina to break. You were the lucky one chosen. You won't let the opportunity go to waste. You wanted to be broken by her.

She picks up the pace. Squelching wet sounds seemingly louder than either of your moans. It was obscene, and your blood was on fire. You feel yourself wanting more, wanting to lose control. You pull Regina into a kiss, feeding on the broken moan she released. Your hand gets tangled in her blond hair, your free hand digging into the plush of her ass.

“Please,” you beg. Your pleas go unheard and your cunt throbs with need. Desperate to cum like this. “Please, please, Regina. My Aphrodite please.”

“You're talking too much,” she murmurs, her cherry lips brushing against yours. “Shut up, doll.” You whine in response, and she kisses you all sloppy and wet, just like the movements of her hips slowing down. Her pussy fucking your cunt with agonizing strokes, her clit seemingly kissing your swollen pearl.

Your walls begin to clench around nothing, painting her cunt with your nectar. She moans into your mouth, and you hear a whisper of some kind of insult.

You couldn't bring yourself to care, not when your body is feeling like jelly. You seemed to be melted on the bed, panting, your eyes blown. Regina chuckles at the sight. “You're too fun,” she snarks, “I am not done yet.”

Regina presses several kisses over your breasts, her tongue teasing your nipple and savoring the salty taste of your skin. She continues down the path until she's between your thighs. She playfully bites into your flesh. You cry out from the sudden sharp pain that borders on pleasure. She does it several times, pulling back when she's satisfied.

She dives into your weeping cunt. Regina pressed a kiss to your swollen clit, before her tongue began to lick your pearl. You swear she was licking her name onto your sensitive nub.

And, fuck, that thought got you off.

Your moans got louder, and it spurred Regina on. The way she was eating out your cunt was fucking filthy. It was as if she was a succubus feeding on you. You enjoyed it, feeling heat gather again in your body. You whine her name, telling her that you're close. She didn't respond; instead, she takes your clit in her mouth to give a harsh suck. She even lets her teeth nip the bud.

You let out a small scream from the pleasure, nearly passing out from bliss. Your juices were coating her face as you calmed down from your sudden, intense orgasm. Your slick walls spasm around nothing. She watched the sight of your fluttering cunt, utterly mesmerized.

She pressed a kiss to your pussy when your orgasm ends. She sits back up. She runs a hand through her silk, blonde hair. Her eyes heated and glazed with lust as she looked at you.

“Think you can return the favor, doll?”

You nod. Your lips are ready to beg for her taste on your tongue. She hums in response and gets in position to ride your pretty, ruined face. Before she blesses you with her cunt on your lips, she gives you a stern glare. “Follow what I did, sweetheart,” she ordered before she lowered down onto your face.

You knew you were too enthusiastic. Your mind is hazy from the lack of air. You lick her cunt sloppily, long stripes all over her folds. You couldn't help yourself, you wanted to have as much of her nectar as possible. Then when you hear her moans getting higher, you focus on her clit.

You do the same thing she does. You spell out your name on her sensitive nub, and it works like a charm. She begins to move her hips, suffocating you with her cunt. You could have died happily like this, you suck her clit harder. Your tongue is getting faster and desperate to taste as much of her. You moan into her cunt, and the vibration of the sound sets her off.

She cries out of bliss as more slick comes out of her cumming pussy. You eagerly gather her slick onto your tongue, not caring about how sensitive she is right now. You keep going until she gets off your face. You let out a whine of displeasure when she does. She readily ignores the pathetic sound. She lays down beside you on the bed.

Her voice was breathless as she asked,

“So what's your name, pretty girl?”

[justpoliteconversations]

Apple Merchant [BOTW!Link x Isekai!Reader] (Part 4)

Link learns some things. And so do you.

Yet another for the ever growing pile of self-indulgent garbage refuse. Enjoy the process of decomposition with me for a while.

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

Alternate Extras: Embrace

Masterlist

TW: Choosing not to display warnings. Read at your own discretion.

Disclaimer: Don't own The Legend of Zelda franchise.

---

The yiga. A faction of Ganon worshipping traitors formerly of the Sheikah clan, whose main objective is to kill the Hero known as Link (in other words, himself). Known for their distinctive red body suits and white masks. And, strangely enough, their love of bananas.

They were also currently at the very top of Link's (until recently non-existent) shit list, because AM had deemed their threat level too great to allow them to meet each other freely. As Blue had told him, AM's profession placed them at greater danger than the average citizen to the assassins' blades. What that profession was, Link was not told (despite his pleading and intense stares and even one memorable attempt to bargain for the information), but it was deemed necessary to maintain distance because of this.

There were plenty of other useful things in the book too. Not a letter or a note or even a small bundle of documents. A book. An honest to Goddess book. Because there was nothing else the ridiculously thick, neatly piled collection of leather bound miscellaneous papers, maps, diagrams, notes and documents could be. It was the thickness of Link's hand for goodness sakes.

Thankfully, Blue had taken mercy on him (and his desire to get moving as soon as possible) and bookmarked the pages and maps that would be most useful to him. All while giving him that bland, graceful smile of hers and explaining that AM was a very proactive information gatherer, but that they didn't always consider that not everyone wanted to know the exact region Sneaky snails bred in or where the highest priced wheat could be found.

Link very deliberately didn't tell her that he did, in fact, find those very interesting topics to learn about (and that he would be reading through the entire book when he got the chance. later). Because he was still stung that she'd given him a condescending little smile (smirk, it was a damned smirk and Link knew it) when he'd tried to bargain with her for more information on AM.

In total, he'd spent three days in Hateno, gathering information (as though the book wasn't enough), gathering supplies (because as many as were in the slate, it didn't have everything a warrior would need to maintain his gear. Blue's words, not his) and getting to know the people around the area.

Also, armor. Costume fitted (Link didn't think too hard about how Blue had gotten his measurements) as to AM's specifications before they'd left town. The order arrived a little later due to his (apparently) small size causing complications with some of the straps.

Honestly, it felt good. It felt familiar with a hazy kind of comfort that spoke of his body's remembrance of such armor resting upon it often. And suddenly, in that moment, the thought that he had once been a knight didn't feel so far off, despite having no memory of it and very little desire to become as such again.

Ready to go (finally) he put on his boots, tightened the straps of his new (fitted. maybe he'd see about getting his Sheikah armor fitted as well if he was in the area) hyrulian armor set, and took one last shot before departing.

"Where can I get more bananas?" Link tried, going for casual but coming off far too intense for it to be anything but prying. "For the Yiga problem."

Blue just smiled (small and condescending, and so frustrating) before replying evenly. "AM has that well in hand I'd imagine." The knowing glint in Blue's eyes put a pout on Link's face. "It's best you focus on your mission, Courageous One." Then she smiled genuinely. Just a bit, but enough to ease Link's heart as she continued. "Fear naught for your beloved AM. No harm shall befall them while my sister haunts their shadow."

Link believed her. And with that little bit of reassurance, the Hero of Hyrule set out into the world once more. With courage in his heart and his goal ever at the forefront of his mind.

Defeat the Calamity guy. Meet AM. Travel this vast, wondrous world with them for the rest of their days. Or, maybe one day settle down more permanently in Hateno and open a food stand.

Anywhere life took them. Whatever you wanted. This was the beginning of his new life after all, and he was so eager to spend it with you.

---

You stared up at the quickly growing pile of bright yellow fruit with something like regret stabbing at your heart. Just thinking about how much rupees you were about to drop on this one purchase alone was enough to put a hitch in your throat. It was enough to have you contemplating a long walk off that equally long (absurdly long) wooden bridge just next to the stable.

When you'd stopped at Lakeside Stable for the night and told Adino you'd pay him market price for any bananas he brought back to you before you left. You hadn't expected him to take that as a challenge. You hadn't expected Skims to get involved in it as well. And you most certainly had not expected Red to show up out of nowhere with a pile rivaling (and maybe even surpassing) Adino's.

And thus, within the span of a few short hours, you were suddenly several thousand rupees poorer (not that that pantry amount even scratched the surface of your accumulated wealth, but you digress) and many, many bananas richer.

At least they tasted good.

"Not that I'm against your presence. But why are you here, Red?" You asked the red clad woman after (with a heavy heart) passing out everyone's pay for the bananas they'd brought you. (Skims and Red didn't even have the grace to look ashamed for muscling in on the quick profit either, the jerks.)

She didn't even pause from where she'd been fingering through her newly acquired (ill gotten) gains when she hummed playfully. "Oh. Gran thought it'd be wise to send along a little extra protection to ensure The Hero's benefactor remained unmolested during these most crucial of times."

The look on your face must have been confused enough to spur Red to explain. "Gran told us to keep you in the dark about our motivations, but I like you. So I'll tell you the truth, since you seem like the reasonable sort." She finally put the rupees down and turned to face you, eyes hardening into a serious shade of near black as she explained.

"The Hero is without his memory, and until recently, was without motivation to see his mission through with the urgency it requires. Had he been as he was before, just the mention of the Princess would have been enough to send the guy running, if you believe the rambling of nostalgic old gossip crows." Her lips twisted into something too complicated to decipher before it was neutral again.

"But he's not the man he used to be. He's not the princess's knight anymore for all his destiny would push him to be. And so, he needed a new motivation to get him moving." She gave you a smile, but it wasn't a nice one (it was one full of spite and pity, though only the pitying part was directed at you). "That's you. The guy loves you already. Call it situational stockholm or just that damned knightly instincts of his, but you are the apple of his eye." She tried to soften her smile into something humorous, but it fell short.

"Bottom line. You're the replacement motivation. Just until he gets enough of his memories back to get invested in the Princess' wellbeing." She flicked a rupee off the stump she'd gathered them on, expression very closed off as she continued.

"Whenever Mr. hero gets a little too comfortable playing house, we're supposed to dangle you in his face and get him interested again. That you seem invested in his success was just a bonus. Be it the Will of Hylia or just simple coincidence, doesn't matter. You're useful, and if it gets the Princess out of that Hell, we're willing to use that."

Another smile, sharp but honest. "It's our duty after all, to serve the royal family. I'm sure you understand." Despite the way the information settled sourly in your stomach you nodded, keeping your expression as even as possible.

She noticed though, and suddenly her hand was on yours (you hadn't noticed it tightening into a fist). "Don't fret, Apples." She smiled again, softer this time. Eyes lighted with a compassion that held such raw honesty despite her earlier words. "My sister and I are not going to let the elders use you like that. You might have asked yourself why Bluey isn't here instead, since, you know-" She smirked, side-eyeing Adino who'd gone some distance off to try to find more bananas (to take more of your rupees, the little bastard).

"We will fulfill our duties. For the protection of Hyrule and everything we love. But not at your's or your dear Hero's expense. At least, not like that. You see, Bluey has something I do not, and that is a gentle touch. She'll take care of the Hero in the way he needs, not the way that'll get the fastest results." Her smirk widened. "And she's got more of a rebellious streak than me too. Trust in her. She'll protect your dear Hero. Even if she has to spit in the elders' eyes to do it. She never could put her heart aside for the sake of duty."

You were silent for a time, digesting her words with the weight and attention they deserved, before looking back to her. A smile on your lips, and your hand out before her in the gesture of a shake.

"I look forward to doing business with you then, Red." You began, letting the edge of your resolve sharpen your eyes and embolden your words. "Let's do our best to protect Link and save Zelda. We'll give it everything we've got."

Red grinned, full and bright and smug (so unbearably smug, like she had won the lottery. which they didn't have here, and you were not interested in introducing any time soon either). "I knew you were gonna understand. The Goddess wouldn't choose just anyone to guard her chosen's heart."

You blinked. "What?"

Red picked up another rupee, flicking it at you. "What~?"

---

Now, off to work! And then the shadows to rest.

[devilanon]

just for you.

submissive simon riley / afab reader. sorry for the wait. i hope you enjoy [very light choking tw, nsfw.]

simon doesnt like to feel bare. in both a literal and emotional sense.

the vulnerability is uncomfortable. it makes him feel raw — like with his gear off you can see straight through him, down to his bones. like with your eyes alone you’re able to pry his ribcage open, dig through all the mess inside of him, pick him apart like a vulture, leave only scraps behind. leave him gasping, wanting, empty, spent.

but you wouldn’t do that. wouldn’t eat him alive. you’re too sweet.

god, you’re sweet, with your hands on his bare thighs, kissing gently, worshipful, almost. you handle him like he’s made of marble, something precious to be cherished; he’s never been touched so reverently before, so delicately. he can’t stand to look at you, not like this, not with your lips on his thigh — it’s like looking into the sun. so keeps his head against the mattress, a forearm thrown over his eyes, hiding. he twitches under your touch, hard and leaking against his leg.

his voice is strained and thick when he manages to speak. it’s hard to focus with all the attention you’re heaping onto him. his head feels fuzzy. “please, lovie,” he pants out. his free hand is fisting the bedsheets, twisting them in his massive grip. his knuckles are white. “please what, Simon?” your voice is saccharine. honeyed. a little teasing. at the sound of his name, he lets out a strangled whine, canting his hips up. “that’s not good enough, baby.” fuck you, 'it’s not good enough', he thinks sourly, knowing exactly what you want. “what do you need, Simon? tell me.” a delicate hand slips around his cock, and he’s done for. “make me come, please,” he grits out, managing to sound both desperate and annoyed all at once, like he’s a bit miffed he had to ask, much less beg. “please.” he can’t fight the wry, bitter smile that twitches onto his face when you answer him with gentle praise — “good. good boys use their manners.” it’s laughable. he’s not a good boy. he’s the worst of them, really. monstrous, heathen, animal. good boys haven’t snuffed lives out with their hands alone. good boys don’t have blood crusted on their boots and under their nails, good boys don’t know what it’s like to see the light drain from someone’s eyes —

but then you sink your mouth down onto his cock, and he’s no longer worried about such things. those thoughts swirl around the drain, gone, and all that’s left is you, here, touching him.

he’s helpless against the onslaught of your hot, wet mouth, the way you kiss and suck and nip at him. his cock, his thighs are slick with your spit. he’s not loud, not unless you push him to be, so he just pants at your touch, hot puffs of air from his parted lips, all kiss-bitten pink. it’s too much and not enough all at once, and he shoves at your head after only a few minutes, pushing you off of him gently. “off. off. let me fuck you,” he breathes, feeling light-headed, like he’s been held underwater.

“rude,” you mumble, climbing atop this mountain of a man to straddle his hips. “do you think you deserve to fuck me without asking nicely?” he laughs, then. he can’t help it. he could snap you in half like a twig at a whim, and here you are, scolding him. he’s fucked. he knows it. you’ve got him wrapped around your little finger. “‘m sorry,” he says, not sounding the least bit apologetic.

his platitude doesn’t sway you, and you stay hovering above him, your hands braced on his chest. he finally looks at you, then, peering up at you with a grin on his face. he wriggles hips, cock swaying, as if to entice you. “please let me fuck you. please let me fill you with my fat fucking—“

the words die off in his throat with a (quite frankly embarrassing) gasp as you sink yourself onto him, just to shut him up. it’s slow going; the width of him makes your legs shake. all the breath is sucked from his lungs at the feeling of your heat around him, the trembling of your fingers as you struggle to take him fully. he wants to fuck up into you, hands on your hips, squeezing hard enough to bruise. he wants to ruin you. but he’s a good boy; you’d said it yourself. so he waits, lets you adjust, shoves his fist into his mouth and bites to keep himself from punching up into your tight cunt.

he grunts when you finally start moving, slowly bouncing on his length. “fuck, fuck, thank you, fuck,” he rambles, sounding higher pitched than you’d ever heard him, fucked out and slightly desperate, like all his composure flew out the window the moment you started rocking your hips. he’s grabbing at you anywhere he can, his hands on your hips, your ass, your breasts, groping hungrily, like he’ll die if he can’t touch you. he keens when you slide a hand around the column of throat and squeeze lightly on the sides; just enough pressure to make him throb inside of you. he’s staring, eyes blown wide as he watches you use him, use his cock to make yourself feel good. you’re so small above him, his hands swallowing your hips as he helps you take his length, and yet he’s the one who feels stripped bare, flayed and minuscule, entirely at your whim, pinned like a butterfly beneath you.

you’ve brought him to his knees, made him show his tender belly like some dog, he realizes. he’d listen like one, if you asked. sit, stay, heel; he’d sit at your feet, lick your hand demurely and obediently, if you just asked it of him. anything, anything for you. a good boy, just for you.

“good, so fucking good for me, simon,” you say, swiveling your hips, and he’s coming out of nowhere. it rips through him, searing hot. it makes him shake. a strangled moan tears from his throat and he sits up to bury his head in the crook of your neck, crushing you against as him as he rides it out. “thank you, thank you, love you, shit,” he chants, slurring his words as you come to your end, milking his cock. tears are pricking at the corners of his eyes, both from the force of his orgasm and the grip of your cunt on his cock afterwards. the overstimulation makes him shiver, just a bit, but he’ll take it for you. only ever for you. you deserve to feel good. he wants to make you feel good.

you sit there for a long while, winding down together. his spend is leaking from you, and he hisses as you dismount. he doesn’t fight you when you pull his head to your chest, petting through his sweat-matted hair. he feels… light, but also tired, like something had been exorcised from him. “thank you,” he mumbles, pressing his face between the valley of your breasts. he can hear your heartbeat, hummingbird fast in your chest. it’s nice, nice enough to lull him into a half-sleep in your grasp. “you’re very welcome, simon.”

[twisted-alte]

Yandere!Sunday x fem!reader

tw // dubcon blowjob, yandere, punishment

Sunday, who determined to purify you. You were such a filthy, dirty little slut who easily spread your legs to other men. He did not like that. He had to cleanse you, it's his duty to make you pure again.

So he tied you up with chain and isolated you from everything and everyone, until you begged him to stop, to have some mercy and let you go.

Unfortunately, that's not what he want to hear. Sunday wanted you to crawl onto your knees, kiss his boots and tell him you are sorry, that you would never spread your legs for anyone but him, your lord, your savior.

He didn't untie you, not yet. He wanted to make sure you really meant it. You had to worship his cock, suck it eagerly like your life depend on it. He would fill your mouth with his cum, demand you to swallow it all, then praise you for being such a good girl.

Now you are pure again. You thought you would finally be free. However Sunday did not let you go. He never intend to do that. Never.

[small-sinclair]

Wolves knocking at the Door

poly!Sinclairs x y/n

Tw: reader is not a wolf (only the brothers), Bo being himself (soft at the end), mentions of past killings, blood, reader gets smacked

This is a free style a/b/o prompt because no one is going to stop me and I have free will over myself. It came to me while I was eating chips and scrolling through @sketchy-rosewitch's blog the other day.

Days before a full moon are the worse in the Sinclair house, and you've taken good note of it. Bo gets angrier like throwing things across Ambrose, Vincent's kills become more violent and bloodied, and Lester just has a hard time keeping his thoughts lined and together, making it harder for him to focus or do his job.

When they were at home with you, they did their damnest to keep their emotions in check. They just wanted to make sure you didn't see the worse in them, that's all; and you knew that they were working so hard on making sure you never see that side of them.

But it's different tonight as the full moon was coming tonight, and you knew that they'll be... different. You knew they'll be out, hunting, fighting, terrorizing, killing--you knew it all but you weren't afraid. Besides, you knew that they'll never hurt you, and they make sure you have Papa's silver bullets and the blessed pistols with you just in case they even tried.

The morning started with Bo's cursing and a coffee mung breaking; that's what woke you. As you came down stairs, you were met with a broken mug on the floor and Lester in a headlock, Vincent pulling Bo away from his brother, and feverish blue eyes filled with fire and brimstone. The power he has in that pose is enough to make you want to run away, but you know better than that.

"Bo!" You snapped as you hurried into the kitchen, but you kept your distance when Vincent shot you a look. "Bo, let him go!"

With a tug, Bo was ripped off Lester's neck, Lester falling to the ground on his hands and knees, coughing and gasping for air as he held his neck. As Vincent backed away with bis brother locked in his grasp, you came to Lester's side and tried to help his steady his breathing.

You haven't seen Bo like this since the night you first saw him kill, when he first dug large canine teeth into your friend's neck, ripping it out to leave her to bleed out on the church floor.

You rubbed his back as he coughs, leaning into your touch. "...betta get outta here, darlin'," he breathed as he heard Vincent losing his grip and Bo stomping over to him. "Git--"

Before you had time to react to his warning, a large hand came down, and the world went quite. The birds stopped singing and the marsh stopped its song. The clouds covered the morning sun and the wind hit the house with full force. A bomb might as well gone off in the house as you faced the other way, holding your face, as the sting filled over your skin. Tears burned like acid as you cried silently. Before anyone could say or do anything, you stand and race out of the house, running down the street towards the church.

Where you still in your pajamas? Yes.

Did you care? No.

When you make it into the church, you find yourself running past their dead mother and hiding in the confessional, locking it. Going to the back of the booth, you tried to make yourself small before hiding your face in your legs, crying. He promised he would never do that, he promised to be a good man and his brothers agreed...

But how much does a promise cost, y/n? What's the payment at the end? They're beast, monsters. They are born to kill and worship the hunt on a full moon. Monsters don't keep promises.

But the Sinclairs do. They're better than this, and they'll prove it.

In a few moments, you hear the door to the church bursting open and heavy footsteps. "Y/n?" Bo called breathlessly, eyes scanning wildly over the pews and walls. "Darlin'! Come out--"

"No!" You yelled back, hugging yourself tightly. Your voice echoed from the locked confessional, and you heard Bo's boots coming to the door. He knocks, but you just yell, "Leave me alone, Bo!"

"Y/n, please com' out!" Bo shouted back, his right hand still burning from the sting. "Come out. I'll do anythin' ya want! Anythin'!" He kneels in front off the door and took in your scent, and he wanted to throw-up. He did this to you. He did this. He loves the smell of fear from his victums, but not from you. His hands rested on the door and he leaned against it. "Honey, please? Open up?"

At first, you don't move from your spot. You looked at the locked door then back at the handle. If you do open up, what'll happen? You're nervous he might yell, might feel different--

Then you hear something you thought you'd never hear: Bo whines at the door, his head thumping against the wood. It's heart aching and it tears you apart to hear him whine like a hurt puppy. You hear it again before the whine turns into him crying at the door, head still pressed against the wood. "Please, darlin," he whispers. "How do I make it better?"

You hear boots shuffling across the church floor, and Lester voice rings over, "Y/n? Ya okay? Where are ya, sweet pea?" His voice falls when he sees his brother at the confessional door, and he frowns. "Y/n?" You're not sure if you should answer him until you hear him joining his brother's side. you see their shadows through the crack on the door. "Yer okay, sweetness," he said against the door. "He didn't mean it." Lester rested his head against the door as well, closing his eyes. He didn't like how you smelled when you left the house in a panic, and he didn't like it now. "Honeydew?"

Then Vincent joins. You know his boots anywhere as he enters. You can hear him sniff the air then whimpering lowly as he joins his brothers. You could see his shadow behind his brothers as he placed a heavy hand on the door, resting his head against the cold wood.

"Sweetheart, please?" Bo's voice cracks. "Open the door? I gotta make sure yer okay."

"I'm not okay, Bo," you answer, your head raising from you hugged knees. "You hit me."

"He didn't mean it!" Lester replied. "Honest!" He's just as scared as his brothers. If you don't open up, he'll make sure Bo pays for everything. He hates hearing you so hurt and sad. That hit was supposed to hit him, not you.

"I wanna hear it from him," you said, wiping your eyes. "I want to hear it from Bo."

Bo took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Ya know I didn't mean it."

Not good enough.

"Then I'm not coming out," you huffed. You're standing your ground on this one.

Vincent looks down at his twin then nodded at the door. He'll do anything to make you stop crying, to take away your pain and have it as his own. Vincent hated seeing you crying, and he hated that he wasn't strong enough to keep the other Alpha at bay. He just wanted to hold you in his arms, bury your head into his chest, and never let you go until you died. He promised himself that he would kill anyone that hurts you, and here he was, glaring at his brother.

Bo begs this time, and he sounds a bit pathetic, "Y/n. I'll do anythin'--"

"Then tell me you didn't mean it, Bo," you said again, looking at the door with hopeful eyes. "Tell me you won't do it again." You sniffled and said, "If you ever want to hold me or kiss me or fuck me, then you'll say it. If not," you looked around the room then back at the door, "I'll stay in here until you say it."

Bo grits his teeth then looks at the closed door as if he was kneeling in front of God himself. He looks down as he felt Lester's hand on his shoulder, nodding at the door.

"'M sorry, Y/n," it doesn't sound forced as he looked at the door. "'M sorry, darlin'. I swear to ya I'll that I'll never lay a hand on ya again. I promise, y/n... I swear it to you." He leans against the door and listens. "Darlin', please? Open up? Le' us see ya."

Silence filled the church before they heard you unlock the door. Bo sits up in attention, his bright blue eyes glowing and scared. Lester's plays with his hands nervously, his brown eyes were mixing to a hazel. Vincent... to say he was nervous was an understatement; he was terrified of your next words and actions. You were the best thing to happen to this little pack.

When Bo looked up to see your face, he was horrified. His hand print marked your perfect skin, and he hated himself more when he saw your puffy and red eyes trying so hard to smile down at him.

He looked as if he was a child reaching up to he picked up by his parent when his hands reached for yours, and you took them. You stepped closer and hold his head against your stomach.

''M sorry, darlin," he murmurs against your pajama shirt. "'M so sorry."

You comb through his hair, closing your eyes, and felt Vincent's arms wrap around your shoulders, taking in your scent, and Lester's hands rubbing your arms gently. Feeling your boys around you always made you feel safe and special.

You four stay like that for a while until you break the silence. "Can I cuddle you before you three have to go out tonight? Please?"

And they're all for it. They walk with you back to the house, Lester taking off his shoes to give you so you don't have to walk over the stones. Vincent holding your hand while Bo follows behind, listening to you talk about your plans for tonight while they go on their hunt.

By the time all of you are back at the house, they head to your room, the room that you share with Bo, and get ready, letting you go under the covers first to get comfortable.

First, Lester crawls in, snuggling up to your left side. Second, Vincent holds you and Lester. Third and last, Bo joins on your right side, getting a side all to himself.

For a while, you stay silent, letting the birds sing and the marsh start its song again.

Bo litters your bruised face with soft, gentle kisses while you run your fingers through Lester's hair, him humming to the touches. Vincent is looking at you as if he's seeing you for the first time. Before long, he takes off his mask and kisses your jaw.

Before you know it, you're asleep between them once more. You're safe and loved from them, and that's all you need.

When you wake up, the only one there is Bo, and your resting your head against his chest. Warm arms wrap around you protectively as he looks up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

When you look up, you can see his first stages of transformation: large brown and soft wolf ears sticking out of his hair, his nails longer and sharper, his blue eyes turning to a deeper blue mixed with purple, small patches of fur littering over his body. He'll have to leave soon before the afternoon sun sets to join his brothers.

Mainly to make sure Lester is okay while during his transformation. It always hurts him the most, so he'll need some support from his two Alphas.

When he feels your eyes on him, he looks down with sadness mixing his eyes. "'M so sorry, darling," he whispers, scared to startle you. "Forgive me?"

"I'll forgive you if you promise to start reading those anger management books I gave you." Then you thought. "Or listen to some ASMR audios."

"I'll take the books, y/n." His voice was rougher and deeper as the day grew.

You snuggle into his shirt, feeling the warmth and his heartbeat against your skin. "Works for me." You look up at him. "I love you."

He brings your face up to his as he places a kiss on your lips. "I love you more, y/n."

[eddie-munsons-blog]

boots? Dunno what ur on about. Boots.

Oh.

Somebody just got wet at the thought. 😏

[erstwhilezealot]

Boot Worship

《NSFW》 《Minors DNI》

Simon Riley × afab reader (they/them pronouns used)

TW: BDSM with no pre-set rules, consensual degradation, no after care

Words: 4,026

Some trashy smut by yours truly. Simon Riley catches you pleasuring yourself while clutching his shirt in the locker room and pushes you into telling him you want to be degraded by him. Title is pretty self explanatory.

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Simon always found himself frustrated with the non-comabt duties of being a Lieutenant, the monotony of paper-work and sitting at a desk making him feel like a caged animal.

He was able to avoid this for the most part, until he took a nasty fall during a mission, injuring his arm to the point where he needed a month of recovery.

Despite plenty of grumbled complaints on his part, he was taken out of commission and, even worse, saddled with a platoon of privates to train.

They were fresh, they were dumb, and Simon found himself taking his frustration out on any one of them who stepped out of line.

One Private in particular had caught his attention repeatedly. He wasn't sure what it was, but he found his eyes finding them day after day, berating them every time they fell over or held their gun slightly off.

He knew it was unfair, but something about standing over them and shouting them down was satisfying to him. The way they would quiver under his gaze as he got into their face, a pink flush spreading over their face.

He made excuses to himself, pushing it off as frustration or wanting them to do better. But every once in a while the thought nagged at him that maybe his focus on them was a little more then work related.

Sitting in his office one evening, trying to get some work done he glanced up to see them quietly walking past, a small bag held in their hand.

Just the sight of them and his frustration bubbled up, wanting to follow them and demand what they were doing up so late, walking past his office and distracting him.

He imagined it, thinking of how they would look as he planted a hand over them on the wall, growling at them about sauntering around the barracks at all hours, distracting him from his work.

He imagined their whimpered apology, imagined leaning closer

"If youre so intent on distracting me."

He would growl,

"Then come into my office and make yourself useful."

The image of them under his desk, that same flush on their face as they sucked him off pushed itself into his brain.

He could feel his cock pulsing as filthy images of them letting him push his hand into their hair as they soaked his cock with their saliva.

He pushed himself back from the desk with a start. Jesus, where did that come from? He admonished himself under his breath,

That's your subordinate, you sick fuck

The thought didn't do anything to dull the uncomfortable pressure between his legs.

He rose to his feet, deciding a cold shower would dispel the unwanted thoughts.

He made his way down the hall, glad to see it was completely empty as he made his way to the locker room.

Rounding the corner to the locker room Simon heard a sound that stopped him in his tracks. A voice, their voice coming faintly from inside the locker room.

He got closer, straining to hear what they were saying and he stopped dead as he realized they weren't talking, they were moaning. Their voice coming out choked.

"Sir, please."

Their voice was low and breathy, he could tell they were attempting to keep quiet but the echo of the locker room carried the sound to where he stood, filling him with a fiery rage.

Deep down he knew that he had no business deciding what his subordinates got up to while outside his training but this didn't stop the stream of rage fueled thoughts.

Who did they think they were, fucking somebody somewhere they could be heard so easily? And calling them sir? He was their superior officer, not whatever nitwit private was shagging them against the lockers.

He stilled himself, waiting to see if their was a response. His pulse thrumming in his ears. He was going to tear them and whoever they were shagging a new one.

There was a long silence, then a little gasp from their lips.

Simon rounded the corner, his vision too clouded with anger to grasp exactly how inappropriate he was being.

From over the lockers he could see the top of their head. Sat on one of the benches, alone. Simon couldn't see the rest of their body but catching a movement of their hand he realized with a start that they were touching themselves.

He told himself he should leave, that this was inappropriate. They weren't actually shagging anyone so he should just leave them to it. Or make a sound like he had just come in and not heard them.

But he didn't.

He approached them, moving with a practiced silence. He could see them now, back facing him, sat on a towel on the low bench. They leaned back in a position that didn't look fully comfortable, their shorts bunched around their spread legs.

He could see their hand moving in quick circles, the exertion spreading a pink flush over their back.

And over their nose was a shirt,

His shirt.

The thought landed just as he realized that his locker hung open next to them. That he must've forgotten to lock it that day after training.

Another quiet moan from their lips,

"Please Lieutenant."

Him,

They were thinking of him.

He did not think, before he acted. Purposefully setting a boot down heavy enough for them to hear.

Your POV

A sound that could only be described as a squeak fell from your lips as you heard a footfall behind you.

Scrambling you attempted to secure your shorts around your waist, as you turned your head.

As your eyes locked on a white skull mask your already sinking stomach hurtled to the floor. Another squeak, whilst you struggled to shuffle to your feet, shorts bunched low on your hips.

Snapping up to what remnants of a salute you could muster, you stared at him, eyes wide, entire body burning.

"Sir-"

You began weekly

"What were you doing private?"

His voice was low, dangerous. He eyes you, his eyes dark and unreadable.

"I- I'm so sorry sir. I shouldn't have- I should've..."

He took another step towards you,

"I didn't ask for an apology private. I asked you a question. What. Were. You. Doing?"

You couldn't dare meet his eyes, fuck you were done for,

"I was... touching myself Lieutenant, sir."

"Touching yourself."

He repeated you in a low, level tone.

There was a long pause and you wished that he would just take the gun from his hip and put you out of your misery.

"While holding my shirt."

It wasn't a question. You squeaked as you followed his gaze to your hand, realizing you were still holding the shirt. Your first instinct was to drop it but wouldn't dare let his shirt touch the grimy floor. You resigned yourself to your fate,

"Yes sir."

"Why?"

The single question was the worst possible thing he could've asked. Again, a bullet would be preferable to having to explain your feelings to the brick wall in front of you.

"Beacause I ah- sort of... like you... sir."

It sounds so lame, so fucking juvenile. He was your superior officer and you "liked" him.

He clicked his tongue, his expression still painfully unreadable.

"You like me, so you sit here and touch yourself clutching my shirt. S'that right?"

You nod pathetically.

"I'm out here cursing and shouting at you about trigger discipline, and you like me. Why is that private?"

This was hell, you were in hell. And he was here to torture you. God, you thought him torturing you would be fun. You were wrong.

"I... I dunno sir I guess I... like, that sort of... thing."

"You like it."

God you wished he would stop repeating you.

"So you think about me... what, shouting at you while you touch yourself?"

"Uhm, well not particularly."

"Then what?"

Was he asking you your kinks?

"Sir I don't think-"

He took another step toward you, and you could smell the scent of his aftershave.

"What do you think about private?"

You knew his low tone meant danger,

"You... degrading me... sir... calling me names."

"Names like what?"

Your voice was weak, the words hard to choke out,

"Like... you calling me, a- uh, slut."

Another long pause,

"Are you?"

"Wh-what... s-sir?"

"Do you think you're a slut? You, sneaking into my locker the one time I forget to lock it to get yourself off while you smell my shirt. Does that make you a slut?"

A whimper choked it's way up your throat,

"I... that is a bit um... slutty. Sir."

Another silence

"So you're a slut then."

Your breath caught in your throat, what was happening? He was supposed to be marching you out of here for a dishonorable discharge, not whatever this was.

"Sir?"

"Say it. Tell me your a slut."

Your stomach did a flip, pinned in his heavy, expectant gaze 

"I'm a slut... sir"

It came out as a question, as you tried to puzzle out what he wanted from you.

He sighed. Apparently that was the wrong choice.

"Like you mean it private."

God with every sentence he unraveled you mentally more and more. At this point you just wanted to run but his hulking figure blocked ant escape route.

"I'm a slut sir."

The words hung in the air, and you scanned his face, waiting to see if that was the right answer to this surreal game

"That's right, was that so hard private? How am I supposed to call you a slut if you don't even believe it?"

Your mouth opened and closed, air completely gone from your lungs.

"Is it just me you think about... or would you be touching yourself for any superior officer who shouts you down?"

"N-no sir. It's just you. You're all I think about."

He cocked his head, and with a panic you realized how that sounded. Like you loved him. You searched for the words to explain yourself, to remedy the damage. None came.

"S'that right?"

He closed the distance between you more, towering over you. His body was so close your legs started to quake a little.

"A slut just for me then?"

Tilting his head to the side, he placed a hand on your hip. The touch sending a jolt of electricity to your core. His fingers skimmed lightly over the curve, continuing to stare as if admiring it. You were breathless, your gaze only able to fixate on his hand as it made smooth motions over your hip.

"Seems a bit odd then don't you think? If you're supposed to be my slut, for you to be here, touching yourself without even asking. Helping yourself to my things."

His hand gripped your hip tighter and you gasped, his words settling on your chest like a brick,

"Seems like you might need to be taught to keep your hands off of things that aren't yours, hm?"

"S-sir... I- I don't understand."

He chuckled darkly,

"What's not to understand private? You said you wanted me to degrade you hm? So are you going to be a good slut and let me, or were you jus' playing with me? Cause' I don't take too kindly to being played with."

"N-no sir... I want you to."

"Then take these off."

His hands tugged at your shorts, still rucked halfway down your hips.

Your movements were slow and unsure, looking at him for reassurance as you hooked your thumbs into the waistband.

He sighed at your hesitancy, reaching out with a fluid motion and pulling them down around your legs. You gasped, the cool air highlighting just how exposed you were as you stood naked in front of him.

"Back on the bench again pet. I want to see what you've been doing to my property. And let's be quick about it, I don't like my time being wasted."

As if there was motor controlling your actions, you sat back on the bench with a small thump, kicking off your shorts from around your legs.

Staring up at him, you felt like a dog waiting for a treat, wanting his approval desperately.

"Spread your legs."

The simple command sent warmth pooling at your core. You didn't give yourself time to second guess as you did as he asked, pushing your knees apart.

"Feet on the bench pet. Need to see how wet you've gotten yourself"

God he didn't even have to touch you and you were already a pathetic mess for him, whimpering while you exposed yourself to him completely.

The silence was heavy as he cocked his head to the side, staring at you. Through you. Assessing your most private bits like a butcher about to slice into a choice cut.

After a long moment he reached out a gloved hand, still eyeing you as he reached two fingers to spread you open, leaning in to get a better view.

It made you feel like some sort of lab experiment. Him, fully clothed, assessing and prodding your naked cunt with a cold precision.

You gasped as two fingers slid through your folds, slicking his hand with a thin sheen of your juices.

He held it up, regarding how you had soaked his glove, expression ever unreadable.

"Fuckin' soaked yourself, haven't you? Just the scent of my t-shirt and you're dripping wet."

He hissed a breath through his teeth,

"Absolutely filthy."

You gave a weak nod. He could say whatever he wanted about you, just as long as he kept talking like that. Kept looking at you like he was going to devour you whole.

Coming towards you again, he held his hand out toward your face.

"Clean it off."

Your face burned as you wrapped your lips around the fingers, meeting his eyes with a look that you hoped was sultry, trying to ignore the fact that looking directly into his face terrified you.

He rewarded you with a small grunt from deep in his throat and your insides felt like they would melt out completely.

Shifting the fingers deeper into your throat, he cocked his head to admire how deeply they pressed into your mouth, the rough tips of his fingers brushing over your tongue.

You sat up, reaching for him, wanting to feel the solid expanse of his chest through his shirt. But his bear-like paw caught your wrist, pulling it away.

"Tch, pet. What makes you think I should let you touch me? Without even asking nonetheless? This about teaching you to keep those filthy hands to yourself."

You gasped,

"I'm sorry sir. Please forgive me."

"Are you really?"

He dropped your wrist, and you wanted to whine at the loss of his touch.

"You don't seem sorry. You seem like a filthy little whore. Fucking yourself off in the locker room where anyone could see you. Gripping my shirt, touching your little cunt that belongs to me. Then as soon as I even touch you, you want to jump all over me. Fucking slut."

A pathetic whimper left your throat

"Please sir, I'm sorry. I can be good, I want to be good for you."

"Not sure if I believe you love. Might need you to prove yourself for me."

He wrapped a hand through your hair, tugging  gently at the strands, tilting it to the side.

"But what to do with you hm? I'm sure this little throat would look good bulging with my cock, but you need to earn that."

"Maybe, since you're so desperate for me. You can hump my boot hm? Prove that little pussy is mine by grinding it into my boot while I watch."

Another dumb nod as his words turned you into a puddle.

His voice was low and husky,

"Get to it then pet."

You hesitated.

"Uh, here sir?"

"Where else?"

His tone was impatient, like you were a child he was explaining something very basic to.

"Shouldn't we go somewhere more... private, maybe?"

He laughed,

"Well pet, I don't think you thought of privacy when you were fucking yourself here, hm? 'Sides, if anyone walks in I'll tell them to fuck off. Or..."

He smirked at you,

"Better yet I could let them watch.  Let them see what a little whore you are for your superior officer. It's my choice isn't it? Since you are my slut after all. So. Get to it."

Knees shaking, you dropped down in front of him, the cement floor cold against your bare legs.

You looked up at him, dark eyes drinking you in as you awkwardly shifted yourself to hover over his boot, trying not to grip his leg too hard. His expectant gaze heavy as you gave a hesitant grind into the leather of his boot.

The material was smooth and hard against your soaking cunt, the seams around the toe cap dragging across the squishy flesh in a surprisingly pleasant way.

You rocked yourself forward, attempting to find a rhythm against the unyielding leather but struggled to find purchase without clutching onto the Lieutenant's leg like a child.

You continued to grind pathetically, not daring to meet Ghost's eyes as you made your sad attempt to fuck his boot.

A hand in your hair, grasping a fistful of strands loosely,

"Harder pet."

Whining pathetically, you desperately tried to work yourself against the smooth leather harder, the slickness between your legs causing you to slip, ass meeting the cement floor.

His grip in your hair tightened a little and your mind went fuzzy with the firm pressure of his hand tugging at your head,

"Mm, this is pathetic isn't it? Can't even fuck my boot properly. Thought you were my slut, hm? Guess I shouldn't bother."

He made a motion to pull away from you, and the horror of loosing his attention made all attempts at retaining your dignity fly out the window.

Upon instinct, your arms locked around his leg desperately. Your face pressing into the rough material of his jeans as you shoved your hips against his leg sloppily.

"Please sir... I- ah fuck- I can do it sir. Plese let me."

Wanton whimpers fell from your lips as you rutted your hips against him, focusing on nothing but your slick cunt sliding over his boot.

He chucked darkly, pursing his lips at you, almost mockingly,

"That's better pet. Look at how desperate you are for me. Like a bitch in heat, aren't you?

"Mm, yes sir. G-god I need it."

You kept going, your cunt making obscene squelching noises as your slick coated his boot almost completely.

Another tug at your hair, pulling so your chin pointed up at him,

"Look at me while you do that pet. Wanna see how dumb your eyes look while you grind into me."

You already knew they did. It was like every braincell you had was melting out from your aching cunt and onto his boot. 

"Yeah, that's a good sight. Dumb little pet, humping my fucking boot. Down where you belong."

His hand unraveled from your hair to move to the front of his jeans,

"Now, pet. I'm gonna get my cock out, and I'm gonna stroke myself off. And you're gonna watch, an' keep fuckin' my boot so I can use that pretty mouth to cum, yeah?"

You nodded, desperate hunger plain on your face,

"Yeah, I knew you'd like that. Fuckin desperate to swallow me aren't you."

You swallowed thickly as he unzipped his jeans, pulling out his cock and running a hand over the thick length.

It was like you were studying a fucking art piece, tracing each raised vein under the slightly red skin with your eyes. You wanted to touch it, to feel the soft warmth in your hands, to see how small they looked wrapped around it. To hear his soft grunts as he pressed it into your throat. But you didn't dare try to touch him again, contenting yourself to grind your aching cunt over his boot as he began to stroke himself with quick, languid strokes.

"This what you've been wanting pet? To be my little toy to make do whatever filthy little thing I please?"

His words were intercut with soft guttural grunts, his hand moving over his prick with precise strokes.

You gasped out an agreement, clutching to him like he was a god you were worshipping with each rut of your hips.

"S'what I thought love, greedy little thing you are. Don't worry pet, now that you've shown me who that little cunt belongs to I fully intend on using it. Whenever I like."

He accented his statement by shifting the tip of his boot to press up, further into the folds of your pussy, drawing a gasp from your lips.

His words sent another gush of heat coursing through you. Your Lieutenant, Ghost, wanted to fuck you. Wanted to use you in whatever way he pleased. The thought sent you into a near frenzy, thrusting against his boot with quick, needy strokes.

You both set your own wordless rythym,  him pumping a single, strong hand over the length of his cock as you kept pace with your desperate grinds of his boot. Your small gasps and his quiet grunts the only sound passing between you.

He leaned his head back, his strokes becoming shorter and quicker as you could see his peak approaching. A single, large hand shot out and gripped your hair, pulling your face towards him.

"Open."

The single word was all you needed to stretch your mouth wide, your tongue outstretched and waiting for him.

He looked down at you, his dark eyes hooded.

"Fuck you look perfect like that. Little slut all ready to swallow my cum."

He pulled your face closer to his cock, tapping the head of it against your tongue a few times, his pre already leaking into your mouth.

He hissed out a shallow breath as a few more strokes brought him to his peak, ropes of his cum painting your tongue and lips. His voice was choked as his cock twitched, grip on your hair tightening with his unraveling.

"S'a good slut. G'na swallow me yeah?"

You nodded, the movement brushing his cockhead lightly over your tongue causing him a final twtch as the last of his cum dripped onto your tongue.

He breathed deeply, watching you as you pulled your tongue in, his taste filling your mouth.

"Mm, that taste good pet?"

You gave a swallow,

"Yes sir."

He smirked,

"You haven't finished yet though. Look at this mess you've made of my boot. Absolutely soaked it "

He nudged the glistening boot toward you,

"Clean it up."

Your hazed over brain couldn't comprehend his meaning. You reached out with a tentative hand to wipe your juices from the leather of his boot.

"Stop."

He sighed,

"You really are like a dumb puppy aren't you? Need me to spell everything out for you? Lick. It. Up."

A flush filled your face. Stooping, you pressed your tongue to the tip of his boot, the tang of your arousel mixing with the earthy taste of the leather.

Planting a hand on either side of the boot, you lavished long strokes over it, not wanting to chance not doing a good enough job. You didn't stop to look back up at him until you were sure you had reached every drop.

Meeting his eyes, you saw his head cocked as if he had been admiring the sight of you licking his boot.

"That's a good pet."

He knelt to your level, tilting your chin to meet his eyes.

"And now, you're gonna go back to your bunk to rest. And you're gonna keep those filthy hands off of my things."

He leaned in close, his voice low.

"Cause' if you lay a finger on that little cunt. I'll know. And I'll fuckin' wreck you. Understood?"

You nodded weakly,

"Thas right pet. Course..."

He tilted his head,

"I might just wreck you anyway."

He rose, his boots retreating from your sight as you lay on the cold floor, still breathing heavily.

[bimbo-baggins17]

KINKTOBER REQUEST!

hear me out:

incest, boot worship, and rape (I forget the numbers oops) with Kurt Matheson.

the idea in my head was that you're his sister or daughter. because of his untreated issues and very sensitive mental state, you visit him often to check on him. you end up staying over one night, nd during that night, it became unsafe to go outside, so you're stuck with him until further notice.

he confides in you about how long it's been since he's had a woman around him, and you get weirded out and ask him to stop, which bums him out.

in the middle of the night, he comes onto you, babbling about how desperate he is and how pretty you are and how much he needs you. ofc, he's a vet and works out, so he's much stronger and can easily overpower you. you wake up out of your sleep screaming and crying, and he ends up raping you.

finally feeling some sort of control, he tells you to worship him - his body, his voice, his very being - and he starts with shoving you down onto your hands and knees, one booted foot heavy on your spine while you're forced to lick at his other boot, cleaning away the dirt and grime.

I KNOW I JUST WROTE THE WHOLE DAMN THING OUT, BUT IF ANYONE CAN WRITE THIS, IT'S YOU!

I’M POSTING THIS ONE EARLY BECAUSE I CANT KEEP IT TO MYSELF ANYMORE

I know I already told you in our messages how much I loved this but OH MY GOD I LOVE THIS SO MUCH. YOUR BRAIN IS BEAUTIFUL BNUUY. Hands down my favorite request like EVER. I went with it being his daughter. Definitely more of a fic than a drabble. Oopsies.

TW: DDDNE!!! Rape and incest!!! Don’t like, don’t read.

One of the only times Kurt would make an exception to answering the door is when he knew you were expected. Every other week, like clockwork, you’d come with some groceries and necessities for your mentally unstable father.

“Hurry. Come in, come in.” His voice is gruff as he quickly ushers you in out of the storm before locking the door once you’re barely past the threshold.

You take a moment to look around his dimly lit space, discarded food cans litter the floor. You sigh as you set the bags of groceries down before stooping to try tidy clean some of it up. Kurt turns to come over to you, his eyes drifting to your ass as you do.

“You know, if you kept your space clean, it would probably help you a bit mentally.” You say with your back still to him. Honestly it probably wouldn’t do much to his fragile mental state but you still tried.

“You worry too much.” He says dismissively coming up beside you.

With a sigh, you straighten up and look at him, “Maybe you don’t worry enough.”

He huffs out a laugh, “You sound just like your mother. Trust me. I worry plenty.”

You shake your head but drop it instead, not wanting to argue. It was draining with him and you were always walking on egg shells. You opt for putting away the items you brought. “I’ll get these put away and then I’ll head out. I can’t stay long this time, sorry dad.”

He exhales and rubs a hand over his stubble. “Can’t give your old man a couple more minutes?”

“Sorry, not tonight. But I’ll be back next week with your med refills.”

He waves a hand at that, “Don’t. Theyre useless anyways.”

You stop and look up at him. “Are you implying you aren’t taking them anymore?”

Kurt looks away, shaking his head. “They don’t work anyways.”

“They can’t work if you don’t take them consistently. We’ve been over this.”

“Yeah you really sound like your mother now.”

You give him a look, unamused by him. “I only say that because I care.”

The lights flicker and both of you look over to the window seeing the storm has gotten significantly worse in the short amount time you’ve been here.

Your dad looks back to you again, “I don’t think I’m comfortable with you out in the weather like this.”

And that’s how you get roped into staying the night at your dad’s. You knew he worried. God he worried about everything. What led to your parents’ divorce was that exact reason. His PTSD got worse and worse until he was unable to leave the house for fear of the end of the world.

Both of you sit on the floor with a lantern between the two of you, barely giving off enough light. The sound of the storm outside drowns out the scraping of utensils in the cans you were eating from.

“How’s school been? I feel so out of the loop anymore.” Kurt speaks up, trying to make conversation.

You shrug lazily, “Alright I guess. You’d be in the loop more if you had a cellphone like a normal person.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I’ll ignore that comment,” He mumbles. His eyes move slowly over you again. He’d be lying if he didn’t think you were beautiful, the way your curves filled out more over time, the way your breasts seemed to nearly double in size over the last year. His chewing halts for a second as he feels a familiar twitch in his pants, one he hadn’t felt in so long. “You got a boyfriend?” He questions after a moment.

You stop and look up at him, shaking your head, “No.”

Slowly he nods his head. “You should. You’re beautiful.”

You shift a little where you sit, uncomfortable with the compliment. Sure it was normal for a dad to compliment his daughter but not your dad. “Um. Thanks.”

“I mean it. You’re looking more and more like your mom did in her prime.”

You look up at him again, “Uh..yeah I guess so.”

“Filling out like her too. Getting her curves.” He continues on. He probably should stop but it’s been so long and yeah it’s probably wrong but he’s so starved for pussy, he’ll take whatever he can. It’d be a waste of a perfect opportunity if he didn’t try.

“Dad?” You question with your eyebrows furrow together tightly.

He sighs and hangs his head. “Sorry. It’s just,” Kurt sighs once more and shifts a little closer to you placing a calloused hand on your leg. “It’s been so long since I’ve been with a woman and I-“

“Oh my god, dad. Gross! Stop it!” You shove his hand off of you and quickly put some distance back between you too.

Kurt’s hand clenches into a fist as he brings it back to his lap. “Right. Yeah. Sorry.” He tries to suppress the disappointment in his voice.

“I’m going to bed, I just..ugh.” You were unnerved to say the least. You get up off the floor, leaving the half eaten can of food on the ground.

“You-uh..you can take my cot.” He calls after you before he’s mentally beating himself up again. This was going to be a long night.

Kurt tosses and turns for what feels like hours on the floor, his cock so painfully hard. He sits up a little to look at you on his cot. You looked so peaceful while sleeping, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest with each breath. It was pure torture to have a woman so close but not being able to do anything about it. Any rational part of his brain was gone years ago so his conscience wasn’t telling him to stop as he got up off the floor, slowly making his way over to your sleeping form.

He reaches down and brushes some hair off your face, “So beautiful,” He murmurs, letting his hand move off your face, slowly tracing down your neck over the pulse point, then your collarbone before he’s allowing himself to squeeze your supple breast. He bites down on his lip to keep from making any noise noticing you weren’t wearing a bra to sleep. His cock throbs.

Kurt palms himself to try and cause any kind of relief this way as he continues to knead your breast, feeling the pebbled nipple poking his palm. He lets out a shuddered exhale. His eyes trail down further seeing the hem of your shirt bunched up a little. A peek wouldn’t hurt right? Not like you’d know. Slowly he inches the shirt up until he’s able to see at least one of your breasts. Leaning down slowly, he presses an open mouthed kiss to it.

You stir a little in your sleep but don’t wake up. He freezes for a second to make sure you stay asleep before he envelopes your nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it.

“Fuck,” He murmurs, releasing it. Making a bolder choice, he lets his hand continue its decent to the waistband of your pants before he’s slipping it in, finding your cunt with his fingers. He draws in a shaky breath feeling how you were wet. “What’re you dreaming about babygirl?” He whispers into the dark.

Against anyone else’s better judgment, he eases your pants and panties down, revealing your core to him. He hesitates for a second looking at it, imagining how tight it would feel wrapped around his shaft.

“I’m so sorry baby. Just been so long..and..and it hurts. You know I love you. You’re my beautiful little girl. I know you’d forgive your dear old dad for this.” He rambles quietly before he’s easing onto the bed between your legs as he bends them. Quickly he fishes his leaking cock out, running it through your folds.

Time isn’t a luxury he has right now. As much as he’d love to savor this, he can’t so he pushes into you, keeping his eyes on your face to make sure you aren’t waking up. Slowly he starts to rock into you, biting back moans that threaten to spill out.

“Oh sweet girl..so good to me.” He pants out, rocking his hips into you faster as he chases his much needed release. The caution he had at first is quickly abandoned as his thrusts grow harsher.

You’re stirred from your slumber feeling something that you most definitely shouldn’t be. Hazily you try to make sense of what’s going on as you come to your senses. Quickly you put together that your father is on top of you fucking into you. “Wha-? S-stop! Stop!”

Kurt’s eyes fly open and land on your face seeing you’re now awake. “Shh..it’s okay baby. I know. I know. Just couldn’t help myself-“

You claw at him to try and get him off, shoving at him but he doesn’t budge. “Dad! Please stop!!” You cry.

“No. No. Just-..nghh..be good for your dad.” He grits out.

You continue to squirm and try to fight which only serves to irritate him. He can’t have that. The years of working out and military training served well and he’s able to easily over power you, pinning you down tightly against the cot. “I said, be good.” He continue to pound into your poor pussy, taking what he wants and not caring about your protests.

“Stop! Please!” You keep repeating the words through far tears that roll down your cheeks.

“Don’t cry baby. You’re helping out your dad.” It’s his attempt to console you. As if reminding you it was your father who was fucking you would somehow make it better.

Your protests soon die off, continuing to cry and sniffle under him.

“Good girl. Such a good girl.” He coos before he’s cumming into you. He leans down to press a wet kiss to your chest. “Now tell daddy thank you.”

Quickly you shake your head. The worst was over, so you assumed. You’d leave after he got off of you. “What? No. You’re sick. Sicker than I thought.” You sniffle.

Kurt leans back, a scowl on his face. “Ungrateful brat.” He spits the words out.

Your eyes widen. You’d upset him, that much was clear. You shake your head again, taking back what you said for the sake of not having him rape you again. “No. No wait. I’m sorry..I’m sorry I didn’t mean it.”

“Oh yeah? You’re sorry, hm?”

You nod your head. “Yeah. Yes, yes I’m sorry dad.” It made you sick to call him that now.

“Show me then. Worship me.”

You look up at him with wide eyes. “W-what?”

“I said, worship me. Make your dad happy.”

You don’t even know where to begin, how to lie that well. Kurt is unhappy with how long you take. Slipping out of you, he quickly yanks you up and shoves you onto your stomach on the floor before you can process what’s happening, his one booted foot shoved directly into the center of your back while the other one rested by your head on the floor.

“Lick it.” He instructs.

“What? Lick what?”

He huffs in frustration, “My boot. Lick it. Show your dad how much you love him.”

You start to protest despite your compromised position, but Kurt presses his boot more firmly into your back. “Lick. It.”

You shakily raise your head and stick your tongue out, giving a little kitten lick to the toe of it.

“More.” He encourages, adding more pressure. “Clean it with your damn tongue.”

You sniffle but oblige him, knowing you weren’t getting out of this without doing so. You run your tongue along the toe of his boot, moving to the front of it, dipping down to the sole of it.

“There we go. Much better.” He praises, “Now tell me you love me.”

You suck in a shaky breath, “I-love you dad.”

He hums happily, “Good. Now my voice.”

“I..love your voice.” You sniffle.

He releases a little of the pressure on your back, “My body.”

You fight the urge to recoil at the words he wants you to speak, “I-…I love your body.” You want to puke.

“Mm. There we go. You made your dad so happy, little girl.” He praises softly, “That wasn’t so bad, yeah?”

You shake your head for the sake of appeasing him, “N-no..it wasn’t.”

“Good,” He takes his boot off of your back but then places it down infront of your face. “Now lick this one.”

[andreas-river]

How fun would it be if Simon’s significant other went missing on a mission. How fun would it be if he had to obey his orders to stay behind, knowing that his person is still out there.

How fun would it be when they finally come back to him, bloodied and scared but alright. I imagine him just wrapping them in his arms and never wanting to let go.

Simon "Ghost" Riley X F!Reader

TW: mention of injury, angst, hurt/comfort, light mention of sex, female body description, fluff.

A/N: i love angst. And thanks for your request Anon, sorry for making you wait that much, but i hope you will like it!

════════════════════════════

To say that Simon was angry was an understatement. He was furious, to the point that not even Soap or Price could get close to him, reacting like a dog kept in a cage, showing his fangs and growling aggressively at anyone, locked up and unable to leave these walls to search for you.

They were in a safe house not too far from where the last mission had taken place, surrounded by a deep forest, potential enemies, and too many variables that could complicate the situation and make it worse.

Price had repeatedly told him to get some rest, that all he could do was wait until the next morning. But for the first time, he had lost his patience and his temper, like a bomb with an unknown timer.

It could have gone off at any time, even as he sat alone at the kitchen table, sipping tea that was now too cold to taste good, his mask barely raised to his lips, his gaze lost ahead, his mind wandering too quickly to have a logical direction.

You were the center of his thoughts, he could still smell your skin on his, your fingers playing with his hair, his lips worshipping every inch of skin, from your lips to the soft skin of your breasts, from your belly to your thighs, remembering exactly how you felt, how you were on him.

And you wanted to feel him on you as soon as possible, limping across the dirt road that led to the safe house. It was barely dawn, the shy rays of the sun finally illuminating the outline of the house you could see in front of you, still too far away for your breath that begged for mercy.

You never imagined that you would find yourself like this, but the situation had escalated so quickly that splitting from the rest of the team was the only chance of survival you had, realizing too late that the radio had been destroyed by a bullet that was fired way too close to your skin.

You kept walking, one hand holding the bleeding side of your tight and a gun in the other, finally reaching the doorway and almost losing it, your head spinning so fast and not feeling the ground under your boots, you put the gun away to knock on the door, but it opened before you could get any closer, lifting your eyes and staring at the man in front of you, familiar brown eyes gazing back at you.

You couldn't even open your mouth to say anything before he jumped on you, wrapping your body in his own, hugging you tightly and taking your breath away, too stunned to realize that Ghost was hugging you.

It was a strange feeling, his muscular arms wrapped around you, his face hidden in your neck, radiating warmth in your cold body. You knew you could get used to it.

"Lt - oh shit, you're alive!" you hear a familiar Scottish accent and manage to turn to him and smile weakly, but Ghost still hasn't left you.

You watch as Soap goes into the safe house, probably to call the others with a grin on his face, amused by the way Ghost was clinging to your body. Leaning on him, you finally let yourself relax, exhaling a sigh of relief, exhausted but happy between safe arms.

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Hello!! I’m here to request a Shion x fem!reader!! Nsfw please 😜

Idk if I can give a plot and if I can’t just ignore this:

Shion has a shy s/o so he immediately thinks she’s innocent and submissive in bed. Little did he know, she’s more confident than him and she’s a pretty ruthless dom. He ends up being the one to be edged and then overstimulated

SUB SHION FOR THE WIN! (So many people peg him as a sub, and it's just getting to me lol)

Pray: Shion Madarame x Fem!Reader

wc: 789

tw: smut

masterlist

"You think you can take it?" Shion chuckles, running his hands up your sides. "I'm pretty fierce in bed."

"Oh?" You push his hands away while giggling, lying underneath him and trying to keep your cool. "Sure, 'Mad Dog.'" You run your fingers over his tattoo, lacing them into his hair before your lips connect. Shion is such a boy toy; this is a fact every girl in Tokyo knows. But despite this, you're enthralled by his demeanor.

"I'll break you," Shion whispers between kisses, his lashes fluttering closed. "If I'm not careful, that is."

"I would like to see you try," you hum, tugging his pants down with skilled fingers.

It all happens so fast, Shion reasons, his arm slung over his face. This isn't how I planned for things to turn out.

You're sucking him off, sure. But he'd long desired to be balls deep inside of you. Not having your mouth--

"Ah!" Shion hisses, his hips jerking up sharply as you transfer his cock from your warm mouth to your hand. If the guys ever heard of this, he'd be done for. "Please." Shion's breath comes out as a pained whimper, and he tugs on the tie holding his arms captive.

"Don't beg," you reply, your eyes flicking up to look at him. "Good boys don't need to beg."

"Let me cum."

"No." Shion deflates but remains harder than ever. He'd never been denied an orgasm before, but this... He rocks his hips forward once or twice, trying to ride out some sort of high on his own terms. But you ease up your hand, returning your mouth to its proper place. But you don't move at all. You just play with his tip, your tongue caressing the slit of his cockhead slowly.

Shion's been beaten up hundreds of times. Each time had been a defeat worth suffering for, but this? This is torture! One he didn't even bargain for!

"Baby," Shion whines. "Baby, I wanna cum..."

"Be good," you reply shortly, flicking his cock. He gasps - more out of shock than pain - and aches his back, begging you to keep stroking and sucking his veiny dick. Women have worshipped it before; what made you any different?

"They call you a one-pump chump." Shion flinches at the nickname. "I told them that wasn't true. I suppose I need to train you, hm?"

"Train me?" Images of boot camp flash before Shion's eyes. "Are you going to..." He swallows hard. "Are you going to send me off somewhere?"

"Why would I do that when I can train you right now?" You take his cock in your blessed hand once more. "You can show them you can last for a long time, can't you, big boy?"

"Yes!" Shion is rewarded with more strokes, bringing him close to the edge. "Yes, I can do it."

"That's what I thought," you reply sweetly, pursing your lips and kissing his tip. "I knew you could."

Shion reckons it's been eons before he can feel the sensation of an orgasm crest again. He instinctively clenches his abdominal muscles, prepping for an earth-shattering release, but you stop again, letting go of his penis.

"Can't cum yet... it's only been twenty minutes." A tear tracks down Shion's face as he feels his penis soften a bit. But then you do it repeatedly, pulling your skirt up and fingering yourself while licking him back to attention. The sounds of your fingers playing in your cunt make him hard again. Shion imagines you climbing over him and riding him to completion while he's tied down to the bed, your pretty ass bouncing up and down without mercy.

The thought brings him to the edge one more, and he tightens up, but you don't stop.

"You want to cum in my mouth or in my pussy?" you wonder, and Shion is rattled from his trance-like state.

"Pussy," he rasps, and you climb on top of him, just like in his daydream. When you slip over his cock, Shion almost shouts and jumps out of his skin. Goosebumps roll over his flesh, and he instantly anchors himself deep inside you. You don't even have to move as he ruts into you on instinct like a bitch in heat.

It's ungodly how hard he comes, but Shion feels prayers slip from his lips as he spills his seed into you, his mind shutting down and going on auto-pilot as he tries to find himself in the hollow void of pleasure. He also vaguely hears you climaxing, sending him deeper into the void.

I don't care if I never stop cumming, he thinks, all alone in the darkness of his own creation. This shit is addicting.

[factorydefaultlu]

how dark can my thoughts get.

The idea: John and Sam having an argument about something, (most likely something small that John blew way out of proportion) and John leaves the motel for a while, then comes back and "puts Sammy to bed"

TW: incest, rape, CSA (no graphic descriptions), Dean worships Sammy and doesn't think John deserves Sammy.

A/N: I didn't proofread this and also I'm high so if I ramble or mess up grammar.. Oops

Sam and Dean are curled up in one of the motel beds, slipping in and out of sleep, just listening to the sounds of the city. They know they can't actually fall asleep, if John catches them it'll start another argument all over again.

John thinks Sam is too old to be sleeping in the same bed as Dean, and yet half the nights the three of them actually spend together, John chooses Sam's bed, although for the past few weeks he was in Dean's bed. The older brother had praised himself for holding his father's attention for so long.

Not because he wanted his father's attention, that was only a small part of it. Dean hated sharing Sam. His Sammy. No one else's, not even their father's.

Dean subconsciously tightens his arms around his baby brother, causing Sam to press harder against him. His crotch fit perfectly above Dean's hip as they lay in a position not too similar to how a mother would hold their toddler.

The older brother took a deep breath in, to calm himself and to get a lung full of the warm musk Sam started having as he grew up. Even under the offensive smell of Irish Spring the boys use, Dean can smell it.

A low hum escapes Sam's lips as he tries to stay awake, "What time is it?" his voiced cracked like porcelain.

As if on cue they both hear the sound of the impala pulling into a parking spot in front of the motel. The light from the highbeams peak through the curtains, illuminating Sam's face enough for Dean to see his frown. "Dad's back." Sam says, his voice muffled against Dean's collar bone.

Dean sighs in response and untangles their limbs, they had laid so close to each other, as if they to crawl under the others skin. Sam immediately feels cold without the perpetual furnace of Dean's body pressed against his.

As soon as they were both curled up in separate beds, the door opens, shuts, then locks. The boys listen intently as John sets his keys and dagger on the table, then removes his boots. He still seems to be pissed about the argument, though not as explosive anymore.

Dean wills himself to not tense up as he feels weight on the bed next to him, he holds his breath and waits for what he expects, but after just a few seconds the weight is gone. He listens as his dad moves from his bed to Sam's.

Panic alarms fire off in Dean's head, he'd managed to keep John focused on him for weeks, it was only a matter of time before his interest shifted back. It was hard to not just roll over and offer himself to his dad, but Dean knows that won't work. He'd just be told 'stop being ridiculous and go back to bed'

Unlike Dean, Sam was unable to keep himself from flinching when John leaned over him. His dad's breath was hot against his ear and the man smelled like whiskey. Sam opened his eyes and looked up at John, just as he had many nights before.

His wet eyes gave John a look that begged.

Begged to he left alone. Begged for John to just lay down and go to sleep. Begged for mercy.

All this did was fuel the fire in John's stomach, the flames licked up inside him like the hellfire that will consume him for the things he does. John leaned forward and pressed a stubbly kiss to Sam's cheek, the boys trembled as his dad pulled the blanket off of him.

The moments between being rolled onto his back, then having his knees pushed to his chest seemed to blur together. Sam was lost in his head until he felt the burn; everytime feels like the first time. He cried when John put him to bed. That was until he was 11. By then he'd learned how to tense his shoulders and relax his spine to ease the pain.

Sam never liked to close his eyes when John put him to bed. He didn't want the feeling to be associated with actual sleep. Even as a young kid, Sam was smart enough for his own good. Now as an adult he has no trouble sleeping. As long as he's not on his back.

Dean listened with a tight chest, he desperately wanted to jump up and tear John off of Sam. He wouldn't win that fight, and he knows it. Dean's mood soured further as he heard the sharp sound of his dad's zipper.

The ratty motel bed squeaked lightly as John put Sam to bed. John is never fast and rough with Sam, much to Dean's happiness. Sammy couldn't handle fast and rough, he needs to be treated tenderly.

Dean clenched his jaw, and a low, wet sound filled the room. Jealousy rises in his chest, though it's not an unfamiliar sounds, Dean will never get used to it. A few minutes pass and he hears John sigh loudly and now they both know it's over. Their dad places another kiss to Sammy's lips before he rolls over and lays with his back to both Sam and Dean.

Sam turns his head and peels his eyes from the ceiling. Dean rolls to face Sam and their eyes lock.

Only now do the tears come, hot streams paint his cheeks and causes a pang in Dean's chest. He wanted to take Sammy and run away, to keep him safe and treat him how he should be treated.

Dean reaches his hand out, and Sam mirrors him. Their hands lock together, Sam's are almost as big as Dean's already; soon it will surpass his. For now Dean is content with Sam's small hand dwarfed in his.

[writer-and-lover]

Boot-Shaped Bruises

Kinktober Day 3: Boot Worship | Bukakke. Genital torture (not extreme, some hard grinding), drool, degradations, general perverseness from reader.

Tw: British Slang

Hobie Brown’s concerts truly encompassed the sort of person he was. They were bright, colourful in so many different ways that they usually left you dazed. Set up in a small underground venue, it’s cosy and relaxed despite the crowd and the noise. Posters litter the walls, pictures of different bands and artists who’ve played before. In the middle of one wall, you can see Hobie’s band poster clearly. You’d made them yourself. Two pillars frame the stage, each one covered in heaps of stickers and doodles. Small standing areas surround the stage, capable of holding maybe a hundred or two hundred people. The stage itself is slightly elevated, made of solid flooring covered in a black carpet. The instruments are all set up already, with the exception of any basses or guitars the groups may be using. Behind the stage, several large speakers hang from the ceiling, with smaller ones wrapping around the room to create a gorgeous noise-surrounding experience. It’s high quality, despite being on the smaller side. You’d know, since you were the one to pick it.

You know the roster like the back of your hand at this point. You’d memorised it beforehand since you were too excited to sleep. The opening band were good at what they did, music catchy and with an amazing beat. Good enough to get the crowd hyped up. There would be several other opening artists on stage, which gave you enough time to see-

“Early bird, I see.”

Hobie. He was one of the first artists you’d met when you began coordinating. He was tall and skinny, but somehow he made it work. It didn’t make him seem awkward at all, instead making him seem elegant. Smooth. He was wearing his signature wicks. The collar around his neck was spiked, as well as his jacket. He also seemed to have spiked bicep arms, which you haven’t seen before. His whole outfit is definitely raised to max on the street punk sub-style. What caught your eye though, was the new boots he sported. A simple, gorgeous black colour; the boots came up to his mid-calf. They had chains replacing any buckle or lace, which was uncharacteristic of him. The leather was smooth with a matte finish. On each side, it had decorative belt buckles that kept each chain up. Most interestingly of all, the chains had large spikes in the middle of them. The vamp of the heel had an extra piece of glossy black leather, designed in the shape of a flame with rough stitching all around it. Definitely done by hand. They were- they were weirdly sexy on him. Boosting his height (albeit, unnecessarily) whilst also finalising his entire punk look.

“Of course, I had to beat the crowds to make sure everything was up ‘n’ runnin’,” you comment. Your eyes still haven’t strayed from the boots. The heel counter seems to also have a matching flame design. How cute. “I see you went to that cobbler I recommended you.”

He looks down at his boots, raising his foot up so you can look at the sole. It’s got symmetrical ridges.

“Yeah, he was a real nice bloke. Gave me a discount ‘cause I told him you sent me.”

You hum. “Yeah, we’re close like that.” You check some things on your clipboard, before looking at Hobie again. “Maybe later you can show me those boots more close up.”

He stares at you for a beat. His eyes look intense, or maybe it’s just the kohl he applied on his waterline. You stare at each other for a moment, before he smiles. He looks wicked, like he’d planned something.

“Why wait? There’s a tiny little changing room backstage that I’m sure can fit us both.”

You gape at the insinuation. If you were a stronger person, you’d probably say no outright. Call him crazy and leave him in the middle of the crowded venue to hide your flustered reaction. But you weren’t. Instead, you considered it. Instead, you thought about having him so close to you. Instead, you winced knowing you wouldn’t fight back.

“Hobie I-, the shows about to start in five minutes! I need to supervise it y’know that-”

“The opening show doesn’t need constant supervision, c’mon darling,” he coos, “just gimme 15 minutes. Give you a good look at these kicks. Won’t take long at all.”

You groan. God, you’re so weak to those dark eyes of his.

“I’m giving you ten, you bloody slag.”

He grins, grabbing you by the arm. He drags you through the crowd, uncaring for how many people he pushes past or steps on in his hurry to get to the room. You apologise as he drags you, cringing at the annoyed murmurs you get. As you get closer to the backroom, you pass the stage. He waves at his bandmates, who begin wolf-whistling and cheering on as soon as they saw you right behind him. The red curtain looms ahead, and you have half the mind to change your mind and run away. You’d been flirting with each other for months, but you never thought- you didn’t think you’d ever-

He shoves you in the backroom, barely pulling the curtain open beforehand. He follows eagerly, smiling wide. His large hand holds you against the furthest wall, splayed out and damn near spanning the entirety of your chest. It’s a small, cramped space. Big enough to just about hold the both of you with a tiny sliver of space left. This close to his face, you can see clearly the shiny rings of his snake bites, and the spiked barbells on his eyebrows. You loved his punk style, the astounding history behind it. But you also loved how sexy he made it look. Maybe you’d always liked that bad boy style, but Hobie really took it to another level. He was such an odd combination of teasing and caring. Every teasing remark, every playful jab or comment sent your head spinning, especially when he’d follow them up with a check-up glance or a soft touch. Making sure you knew he was joking. Making sure that you were into it.

“Don’t think you’ll be able to see the boots really well from up here, yeah?”

You blink at him, mouth slightly gaping open.

“You gone daft?” 

You stammer, indignantly pushing him back slightly. He smiles, watching you raptly. Taking a deep breath, you drop to your knees. Maybe. Just maybe, you miscalculated a bit. Because now his boots are right between your thighs, way too close to your own crotch for you to feel comfortable with it. It’s true that you can see the boots better this way. And you can definitely see how clean they are, taken great care of. But…

“Have you polished them recently?”

Hobie thinks, making a face. “Nah.” He grins again, canine teeth glinting in the dim light. “You can polish them for me, no?” 

You frown, “Hobs, I don’t have any polishing materials. Hell, I don’t remember the last time I polished my own footwear-”

“Who said anything about polish?”

You blink at him, eyes furrowed. How else would you-. Oh. The realisation hits you in the face. He means for you to… to- You swallow, tilting your head down to look at his boots. Flustered as you are, it’s so- so damn tempting to do it. It’s degrading. Degenerate. Even so, you wrap your hands gently under the sole of it, feeling the weight of the boot. Of Hobie’s foot. Of his gaze. It’s so damn humiliating, you don’t want to look up at him. But you’re shameless enough to wrap your other hand around his ankle to bring the boot closer to your face. Closing your eyes, you gently lick at the leather of the vamp. It’s bitter, the taste making your boot scrunch up. But a soft nudge at your mouth with it encourages you to press your tongue harder against it on the second pass. Your body feels hot, like you’re being overcome by a lust-filled fever. You kiss the boot wetly, a strand of saliva connecting your lips to the boot. You hear a groan and you almost look up at him. But eye contact would be too much for you right now. A small movement just above your head makes you open your eyes. His hand, decked in silver rings, palms at the bulge in his pants. It’s a gentle motion, almost teasing. For both you and him. The sight makes you moan, even as you flatten out your tongue to give a broad lick to the side of the boot. Your eyes are glassy, disoriented. So focused on looking good. The small noises he makes are encouraging. You’re turning more sloppy with it, so consumed with need that thinking isn’t possible.

The boot moves out your hands, the sole pushing harshly against your face. The low laugh that comes out of Hobie's mouth sounds so mean, so cruel. It makes you pulse in your underwear. And you feel yourself pulse again when you think of the fact that you’ll probably have a mark of his boot for the whole night. God, you feel so dirty. You moan softly. The boot comes down your chest, pressing gently against it and trailing down to your crotch. He presses hard against your inner thigh, and you can clearly see the mark of his boot against your clothes. It rips a gasp out your chest, cut off by the feel of his boot bruising the opposite thigh, higher up than before. You can see where he’s going with it, and looking up, you can see his dark eyes narrowed down at you. So calculating. His grin is wiped off, and instead he’s biting at his snake bites. The sight is so hot, you feel like you’re drooling. Like a dog. You lick your lips, leaning back to give Hobie more space. All whilst spreading your legs more.

“Fuckkkk. So pretty, songbird. Gonna moan for me, yeah?”

You moan shakily, eyes squeezed shut. You’re biting harshly at your lip. Even though you can hear one of the opening artists playing outside, you’re so scared that they’ll hear you. That you’ll be depraved enough to make it known what you and Hobie are up to. 

“Thought you were going to par me when I tried dragging you here,” he admitted, “but you were so easy. You’ve been trying to chirps me, yeah? Poor thing.”

That gets a loud moan out of you. The teasing. A boot against your crotch cuts you off, instead pulling a yell out of you. The pressure is immense, almost painful. But it feels so good, especially when you grind up against it. You can’t help but get louder with each twist of your hips. 

“Shh, you’re being loud, songbird.”

He pushes your head back with the palm of his palm, dragging it down to sink two ringed fingers into your wet mouth. You moan wetly around them, drool spilling out your mouth and dribbling on your chin and down your front. You’re so messy, but Hobie doesn’t let you look away. He yanks your face back with the fingers hooked in your mouth, gently slapping your cheek when you close your eyes.

“How about you make me feel good too?”

You look at him, eyes half-lidded. You’re half gone, but God it feels good to listen to what Hobie says. So as he slips his fingers out your mouth, your hand reaches up shakily towards Hobie's trousers. He'd been kind enough to undo the many chains and complicated belt-ropes that held his trousers up at some point. But he had his normal, spiked belt still buckled. So you do the honor of wrapping shaky fingers around it, unbuckling it as fast as you can. You undo his zip and button, excited. In a perverse way, you're looking forward to mouthing at the outline of his dick through his underwear. To inhale his sweat-addled smell as subtly as you can. Except, that he's not wearing any underwear. You can see his dark skin straight away, a thick happy trail leading down to the thick hair surrounding the base of his dick. You blink up at him. 

"Going commando, Hobs?"

He smirks, grabbing you by the back of your head. 

"Just wanted to make it easier for my biggest fan. That's all."

You shiver, gently dragging his trousers and pants down to his mid-thigh, letting his dick flop down over your face. Gently, you mouth up the shaft of his dick, and shyly sink your tongue into Hobie’s foreskin to taste at his skin. He curses, grabbing at both sides of your head. You close your eyes, trusting Hobie to guide you into making him feel good. You drag your tongue against the spongy tip, moaning breathlessly at the taste. Now it’s Hobie who can’t keep his eyes open, torn between looking at the way you tease him and shutting them to enjoy it to the fullest. You wrap your lips around the exposed tip, sucking at it gently. He shudders, head falling back against the wall. His breathing is loud, ragged moans pulling straight out from his chest. The warm, wet mouth around his dick too good to be true. You inch down his cock slowly, lips stretched to accommodate his size. 

A knock to the doorframe shakes you both out of your reverie.

“Five minutes, boss!”

One of Hobie’s bandmates. It’s said full of amusement and future teasing, but it brings a curse out of Hobie.

“Fuck- I’ll be there!”

He pushes your mouth completely off of his dick, instead jerking it off rapidly right in front of you. It makes you remember that he’s still digging his foot into your crotch, although it’d loosened up some time ago. You grab his ankle with both hands and pull his boot further into your crotch, sobbing at the pleasure and pain that it brings. Your clothes are dirtied to all hell. You probably won’t be able to take the marks out of it. But that excites you. You’ll probably paint over them with some sort of dark fabric paint. The hand on the side of your head tightens, and you look up at Hobie, mouth gaping, right as he comes over your face. You flinch, closing your eyes as you feel it get on your face, in your mouth and in your hair. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He digs his boot further into your crotch, grinding it against your sensitive spots. It’s too much for you, and you come with a loud cry. You slump back against the wall, panting harshly. Hobie moves his boot away before crouching infront of you. He passes a soft cloth (some poor bastards lost shirt or something) over your face and hair, as you swallow what you got in your mouth. Your eyes open, hazy. He winces slightly, before smiling. 

“Good job, songbird.” He pats your face lovingly. “I can’t get the boot mark out though.”

You jerk up at that, mouth agape and eyebrows furrowed.

“What the fuck do you mean,” you harshly whisper, “that you can’t get the boot mark out?”

“C’mon. I’m sure noone’s gonna notice, it’s all chill, innit?” 

“You goddamn wasteman, I’m gonna KILL YOU-”

The rest of the show is a success. Hobie had managed to run out the backroom before you’d either strangled him or ripped his dick off. He strutted over to the stage, a big smile on his face. His bandmates hollered and whooped, seeing his happy demeanour. Until they saw your own, fuming face. Each one wincing and whipping their faces away, focusing instead on their instruments. The boot mark on your face was so glaringly obvious, as well as the ones all over the front of your clothes. A few patrons pointed them out to you, waggling their eyebrows at you or sending you cheeky glances.

“Ey, that’s jokes mate,” a particularly young lad cackled, wrapping his arm around you, “you and your bird being bare bait with all that here, huh?”

“Allow it.” You hissed, pushing him away. 

It was a great goddamn show.