writer-and-lover - Tumblr blog

[writer-and-lover]

'15 // SHOTGUNNING + TEMP PLAY WITH GHOSTFACE (NB).

CHEEKY CONTENT AHEAD - if you decide to press on the keep reading link, you are actively engaging with lewd content, if that's not your cup of tea, please don't hesitate to scroll past etc

ABOUT ;; as a fair warning, this has heavy NON-CON, DUB-CON THEMES, if this isn't your cup of tea, don't hesitate to click out of this post, thank you. also !! this is a little on the silly ISH side, if you can interpret it that way ?? art GCSE >>>> AHSKAJ update yes I don't know what this is really.

tags - cigarette burning, sadomasochism, masochism, sadism, temperature play, strong language, ghostface is not nice in this, bondage and restraints, degradation, dumbification, praise kink somewhat, threats, roleplay, CNC roleplay etc

by justwolosers 2023. do not steal, copy or repost.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST OR WEEK THREE OVERVIEW.

FEM VERS | MALE VERS

GHOSTFACE X GN READER ;;

“C’mon, toots, it ain’t that bad. Quickfire question, you still countin’?���

Gaze heavy, slick, gloved forefingers slip inside yet again with relative ease; hooking and curling upwards, persistently nudging up along ribbed, gummy walls. Pressing again and again at that sweet little spot of yours. Glossy strands of lube and saliva thin and bead with each scissoring motion, sinking further inside, stretching you open.

You were doing better than he’d imagined - you seemed like the type to fall apart at the first touch. That’s not to say you weren’t touch-starved, if anything, out of sheer will you seemed to be refusing to give him a reaction, a response. Instead, opting to look away, eyes honed in on the three blotted out, used cigarettes, a small distance away on rotten floorboards. Which was, to say the least, frustrating.

He wanted you to look at him, only him; to pay attention. Your gaze always seemed to be elsewhere, naturally excited by anything deemed bright and shiny. A petty euphemism for your friends, who’d you’d risk tooth and nail for within matches, even when he’d have them strung up and strung apart, a bloody mess - you wouldn’t look at him. But, you would, in due time.

Kindness was never his strong suit, and it could only get you so far, couldn’t it? Manners could only do so much to really push a point across. You understood that, right? He’d been patient.

With his free hand, he kneads his gloved thumb painfully into the head of your sex, swollen and overworked, and slides his forefinger around the opposite side, slowly applying pressure as he pinches and tugs at the engorged head.

The reaction is immediate, endearing even; eyes wide and watery, a high pitched keen forces its way out, muffled through the saliva soaked gag. Your thighs tense and contract, drawing upwards, toes curling as you twitch weakly, being guided yet again through another orgasm.

“That got your attention, didn’t it?” Blinking drowsily, you tilt your head in his direction from where it had been hanging weakly, confusion apparent. “I guess you wouldn’t do too well with pop quizzes; that reaction time is awful, toots! We’ll work on that though, pinky promise. Now, I asked you a question, yeah? Wanna give me an answer?”

Your hands, secured uncomfortably to a rusty, worn pipe above your head, instinctively clasp tightly into one another. The coarse rope no doubt chafing into smooth skin. He assumes you were trying to comfort yourself in some way, self soothing; whatever it implied, your attention was on him again.

Eyelashes damp and dewy, you blink unsurely once more, before recognition flickers in your eyes. A gradual mixture of understanding, panic and then finally fear, settling in.

You shake your head erratically, shrinking into yourself with the limited movement you have, whining pathetically.

“Toooooots,” it’s chipper, drawn out in a jovial singsong tone, “You gotta give me an answer. Pretty please. You agreed to; one correct answer and I ease up on you, yeah?”

In actuality, you didn’t - not really. If anything it was a ego boost for him, hearing you plead and stumble over what he could make out from your unintelligible words; and it was clear you were beginning to pick up on that pattern from the previous attempts you’d made to answer him, in hopes of having a break from the relentless stimulation.

You shake your head once more, chest heaving as if you were-

“Awh, you cryin’? Really, for me? I feel a ‘lil honoured, honestly. That’s cute, real cute. Now, is that a no, then? You don't wanna give me your final answer?"

Another shaky refusal.

With a final squeeze and a dramatic sigh, he releases the painful hold on your sex, patting at it playfully before swiping down his palms on his cloak, rubbing away any fluids. Leaning over, he reaches towards the discarded cigarette packet, a few sticks remaining and ready to be lit.

Maybe he could finally finish off etching his name into your skin - a small motif, signing off his work. Picking out one from the worn packet with one hand, he twirls the cigarette across his knuckles smoothly; the other hand, clasped around a small lighter.

“How about another lesson in pointillism, toots?”

[writer-and-lover]

I am a(n):

⚪ Male

⚪ Female

🔘 Writer

Looking for

⚪ Boyfriend

⚪ Girlfriend

🔘 An incredibly specific word that I can't remember

[writer-and-lover]

I

I've given up on Kinktober, too many sexy sexy ideas and not enough brainpower to complete 'em.

However! I'll be finishing up the requests I'd gotten and hopefully posting them sometime this week

[writer-and-lover]

Jumping the Gun

Kinktober Day 7: Stuck in a wall | Virginity. Sex club, BDSM club, restraints, clear consent, overstimulation and sex toys.

You were not the smartest person in the club, you were sure. And your friends, you decided, where dickheads for suggesting this. You’d asked your friends for a way to lose your virginity. Surely, there was some sort of club signal for wanting to get laid or something. Or a specific drink that would get rid of your innate ability to overthink and send you out into somebody’s open arms and warm bed. But no, your friends had gone with the worst possible solution.

The club they had chosen was not a simple one you could find around the corner. No, this one was specifically a sex one. A BDSM club that they loved to frequent and they swore up and down that it would help you finally lose your virginity. And the idiot you were, you agreed to it happily. When you’d first walked to the place, you’d been amazed. Star-eyed. Everything was so new, so casual and yet so intimate. You weren’t sure how much you could look at, so you tried your best to keep your gaze down. One of your friends guided you along, as the others scattered to do their respective things. He explained all the amazing activities to be done in this sort of club. It almost felt like a depraved fairy-tale, the way told them with so much magic. And poor little old you, you were so easily convinced.

And so you ended up here, half way in a hole in the wall.

Of course, you’d been reassured over and over again that it’d be safe for you. Everyone was checked to be clean (you’d been asked to bring recent medical proof of being clean, too) and you’d be supervised. Plus, you had your safeword in case anything suddenly became way too much for you. And so you’d cluelessly agreed to it. Guided through the hole, your hands cuffed to the corners of the box you’d been put in. Right in front of you, a small TV showed you how your lower body looked, from your feet to your butt. Your legs had also been cuffed at the ankles, allowing for a small range of movement but preventing you from kicking out at all. Your shaggy tail had been left alone, thanks to your weak request. It drooped down now, curled up between your legs in nervousness and slight fear. You’d been stripped before-hand, so anyone who walked by could see everything. You felt so so vulnerable and alone in this dark box. You looked away from the screen.

It felt like you’d been panting and squirming for hours before you feel the first touch. It makes you squeak. Body tense. A rough, growl-like laugh in your ear. The box had speakers? A hand squeezes the base of your tail, sending a harsh jolt through you. It wasn’t exactly painful. It felt good, electric pleasure running up your spine and sending you shaking. You stare up at the screen, looking at the absolutely massive clawed hand grabbing at your tail. It was weirdly smooth, an blue-tinted black that contrasted with the man’s white suit. His body would’ve covered the camera if it hadn’t been for the weird angle it was placed at. He’s huge, maybe double your size. There’s a long cape covering his back, the same colour of his skin. The next touch surprises you, a gentle graze of his claws along your hip bone. You shiver. His hands feel cold, and kind of humid.

His hands move, squeezing at your waist in a bruising grip. His thumbs rest against the small of your back, tips of his claws sinking slightly into your spine. He seems to be feeling out the strength of your body. His large hands drag down your skin, his left one pulling your thighs apart as the right one cups at your sex. You flinch hard and he steadies your body with a mean hand on your side. You let out a cry at the touches, so overly sensitive from the lack of stimulation for so many years. He rubs harshly against the underside of your sex, ignoring your weak cries and muffled moans. A soft, blunt force presses against your hole, making you tense up. What you think is lube drips down the toy over your taint, and covers your thighs. It’s most likely one of the offered sex toys. You doubt he’d shove his claws into you. You hope he won’t shove his claws into you. You open your eyes, struggling, and stare at the screen. Looking at the small looking dildo press against your hole. The toy presses more and more insistently against you, until your hole opens up against the insistence. It feels- good. It makes your eyes roll into the back of your head as you come. It’s so sudden, the sudden orgasm that just having this small dildo penetrate you is giving you. Your body goes limp, and the man takes advantage of it. He leans down, and you can see him more clearly. He’s got a mutation quirk. An Orca quirk. No wonder he was so huge. He opens his mouth and lets out a long, broad tongue lap at your skin. The wet muscle drags down towards your entrance, where the dildo is being move slowly forward and backwards. The dildo stops, and you feel the blunt edge of the tongue push in alongside it. You scream, trying and failing to kick out despite the cuffs keeping your legs in place. Closing your thighs does nothing but annoy the man, and make him digs his claws into the soft fat of your thighs to keep them apart. You sob, damn near writhing in place. It goes on for a while, the new mind-numbing pleasure that makes you come over and over again. The dildos change, getting bigger in size and pulling more intense orgasm out of you.

Then suddenly the newest dildo is pulled out, and something warm and tapered presses against your hole.

You tremble at the feeling. It’s hot, nearly burning. And it feels big despite the pointed tip of it. You pant into the silence of the box, gently pulling at your cuffs. You’re so scared, but… you don’t want to safeword out. This man has made you feel so good, so far. This is just that one step further. The last step.

“Relax, pup.”

It’s the only warning you get. The feeling of his cock slowly and gently forcing you open melts your mind. Your mouth drops open, eyes wide open but rolled to the back of your head. Each gentle push makes you grunt softly, incapable of anything more. It feels unending, the burning hot pressure forcing it’s way inside you. And looking at the screen, you sob. It’s nowhere near half-way in. But he doesn’t seem satisfied in stopping now. Each shallow thrust pushes more and more of his spongy cock inside of you, driving you more and more mindless. You don’t know how long you lay there, legs shaking with effort. But you feel the material of his slacks brush against your skin, and you keen.

“Shh, nearly there.”

A small hum echoes through your body, making you stiffen. You- you can’t move. Can’t push back or away from this stranger’s cock. And yet, you’re not worried at all. Maybe it’s the intense pleasure of feeling his cock reach the deepest parts of yourself, parts you never thought you had. Or maybe he’s just got a special power about him. With a sharp snap of his hips, he sheathes himself completely in you. And you come. His cock presses into every single sweet spot inside of you. You feel spent, more like a fleshlight than a human being at this point. He starts thrusting now, clawed hands back at the dip of your hips. They squeeze you with a bruising hold. Pulling you back and forth on his cock, as much as the cuffs around your wrists and ankles allow him to. The drag drives you insane, slow paced and gentle. You beg, sobbing for more, more. Maybe he can’t hear you, despite the speakers you know they keep outside. Or maybe he’s just ignoring you, relishing in the warm, tight hole that could finally fit him in. Because he keeps the same insanity-inducing pace. His thrusts turn sloppy, pace picking up slightly as he begins chasing his impeding orgasm. It makes you howl, tail smacking hard against his arm. He grabs it, scratching at the base just to feel you come again with the loudest scream you’d ever let out in your life. And he sinks in fully to the hilt, filling you up with warm, thick seed.

You’re floating. Mind completely gone. You can feel the loss of pressure, the empty feeling when he pulls out. But you don’t have the energy to react. To beg him to stay. His come drips down your thighs, covering them in a disgusting manner. Some of it splatters to the floor.

He slips a small business card through the gap in the wall to your side of the box and disappears.

[writer-and-lover]

Sometimes asking friends to beta PWP is just like, "Do you want to see... the smut? The filth? The dirt that I have shaken from my soul? Wouldst thou care to gaze upon this wretched thing with me and tell me if it dost set thy loins aflame as it did mine own?"

And then they're like, "Sure."

And that's real friendship there, man.

[writer-and-lover]

Behind Bars

Kinktober day 6: Chastity | Frottage. Contains mean reader, cocky Atsumu and the slightest bit of dubcon. Dw, he enjoyed it a lot.

Miya Atsumu. The most arrogant, cocky brat you’re ever meet in your life. Loud and insistent, Miya Atsumu rose to the Black Jackals with determination and too much hubris inside his big, stupid head. It was true, he was definitely from the monster era, his skills as a setter rivalled only by Kageyama Tobio. But that wasn’t good enough for Miya, he just had to make a competition of everything. Cooking with his twin turned into “who can cut the vegetables faster”, simple sets with his teammates turned into “who can do the most sets in the set amount of time” and casual games with your team turned into full blown tournament level matches.

Unfortunately, he was your cocky brat. Fortunately, it meant you could put him in his place.

Waiting for him at the entrance to the building, you frown when you see his self-satisfied smirk. It ticks you off, knowing he’d knowingly cheated to get a chance to win. The sly cunt. But as soon as he got close enough, you wrapped your hand around his wrist and pulled him along with you. Taking him to your apartment. His face pissed you off. Like the cat who got the cream, so goddamn happy with himself.

“I didn’t know y’played so badly, baby,” he purrs. “You need extra training, you were way too distracted.”

“And you need a behaviour adjustment, Miya.”

He flinches and blanches. You only called him Miya when he was in deep, deep trouble.

“Haha… C’mon, pumpkin! Yer not serious, right? It was just a funny little joke, just trynna see where yer head’s at!”

“That isn’t helping your case.”

You shove him into your apartment building, essentially manhandling him all the way to your bedroom. You throw him on the bed, making sure to threaten him into staying still. He’s pouting as you look through your wardrobe, looking through boxes and through clothes. You hum in victory when you find what you need, before making your way back to Atsumu.

“What you got the- mm!”

You interrupt him with a kiss, biting at his lower lip. He’s so easy to break. He melts into your hands like warm butter, opening his mouth obediently for you to shove your tongue into. He sounds so pretty, as you run your hands up his sides and grab a hold of his bright yellow hair. You’re mean to him, biting at his lip and sucking roughly on his tongue. And he eats it up, preening like a goddamn bird with the rough treatment. You wrestle him out of his clothes, and he doesn’t even lift a finger, only taunts you. But he isn’t expecting the cock cage you lock on him. And he fights it. He whines, begs, bribes. But you simply hold him down, a hand bruising his jaw. Licking into his mouth is so easy, he merely moans.

“If you’d been a good boy, I would’ve fucked you in the locker rooms,” you emphasise this with a roll of your hips against Atsumu’s. He whines, bucking his hips hard against yours. You just laugh, as he sniffles. He can only feel the pressure of your hips against his, he can’t feel the delicious friction on his locked little prick. You let out a groan, grinding harder against him, feeling yourself twitch and grow more aroused. You kissed him harder, playing with the belts of his cock cage. He clawed at your back and hips, desperate to feel any sort of pleasure.

“P-please- c’mon. Yer gonna fuck me, right? At least?” His voice is shaky, eyes watery and half-shut.

“Of course not, Miya,” you murmur against his mouth, kissing at the corner, “it wouldn’t be a punishment if you enjoyed it.”

[writer-and-lover]

me and the miguel/aizawa fics ;;

[writer-and-lover]

Pro-Wrestling Novice

Kinktober day 5: Collaring | Sweat

Also contains handjobs, a kind of submissive Hugo Vega and brief mentions of other characters.

After that first time Hugo and you had play-fought in his little wrestling themed room, you’d made it a habit. Once a week, you’d go out to trivia night and order a charcuterie board for the both of you. Then you’d split the winnings with each other (splitting the discount for fixing your respective cars) and head to Hugo’s house. You’d spend most of the evening talking about anything and everything. You’ve pretty much told him the whole history of the elephantidae evolution tree and the different branches. And you’re sure he’s damn near memorised every single literature book detailing the most famous or underrated artists in each art era. He’d fallen in love with Asian elephants, calling them sweet old buddies so he could watch you smile. You’d fallen in love with Monet’s paintings and how Hugo seemed to be able to analyse every single paint stroke.

As the night went on and Ernest went over to Lucien’s house, you both made your way over into the beloved room. The biggest opening to Hugo’s heart. It was stunning, so much effort and dedication placed into such a dear thing. It brought wonder into your eyes every single time. There was enough space in the middle of the room for you both to play and wrestle as long as you both wanted. Both of you would always end up breathless in laughter, the joy of acting and getting to be so carefree with each other addicting. And it was great to learn so much about the sport, the history of it, the moves. Especially the moves.

Maybe you were just a pervert. Maybe what you felt for Hugo was more than just romance. You’re pretty sure he wouldn’t mind it either, you were both grown men, God’s sake!

But sometimes, just being close to Hugo made you feel hot. Dizzy. It made you feel gross in a way. And these little play sessions- You hate to admit it, but more often than not, you’d hope that you were a braver man. That you could ask Hugo for something more than just these cute dates and more on the lines of bend you over in half. Not that it would be safe. You’re sure your back would snap in half. You’d felt the strength in that man, especially during that one trivia night. The effortless way he’d picked you up from the pure joy of seeing those wrestling tickets.

So maybe when tonight you chose to wear something different with the excuse of having accompanied Matt’s young friend to a concert beforehand, you actually had less innocent intentions in mind. You’d asked Mary, rather shyly, what the best way to hint at a man into having… “relations” would be. Her suggestion, pretty crude if you may say so yourself, was essentially to throw yourself naked at him to finally “get a good fuck.” You then went to find Matt, and beg for his more sane advice. His good advice.

Which led you to tonight. Dressed up in tight, glossy, black leather pants and a black muscle hoodie. And a collar around your neck. It had been a very last minute addition, a sudden find that Matt had insisted you wore. Something about having known Hugo for long enough to know he’d like the look of it. You didn’t understand what would be so appealing about a collar, but you trusted Matt’s judgement. With a simple ring in the middle and about eight evenly placed d-rings, the collar seemed to you to be pretty basic. Something simple you’d bought when you were younger and stupider. The buckles and spikes were a plus, adding to your obvious punk/ska aesthetic. Cute. The whole outfit was simple enough to seem legit. Plus, you had promised to take Pablo. So it wasn’t an actual lie. But there had been no need for it.

With excited encouragement from Mary, Matt and Pablo, you made your way with Matt to the trivia night. To Hugo.

Hugo’s reaction had sent nerves through you at first. His wide eyes had been the first thing you’d noticed. The second being the way his back straightened more than it already had. It had felt almost like that first date you’d both gone to. His eyes never strayed from you, even as you both answered questions where you could. But every time you looked back at him, he looked away in such a cute, bashful way. He didn’t seem to eat a lot either, nearly half of the board being eaten by you. You’d have eaten more if it hadn’t been due to your nerves.

The walk back to his house had been fun, at least. Hugo’s nervous rushed speaking made you less anxious, ironically. You loved teasing him, playfully.

But when you got to the house, everything seemed to ease slowly. Maybe it was the familiar environment, or the many number of distractions. But Hugo eased considerably. Just like always, you both talked and talked and talked. Of silly little nothings, of the compositions of stars and how music could be translated into it. Until Ernest bravely stomped down the stairs and out the front door, with a simple goodbye wave.

The tension hit like a train. Hugo nervously grinned and guided you back to his wrestling room. You did your best to crack jokes once you got there, doing silly little stretches to make Hugo relax again. But Hugo seemed so distracted, gaze averted somewhere on you. But you paid it no mind. Once you deemed yourself sufficiently warmed up and stretched, you bounced on the balls of your feet.

“C’mon, J.D Slamminger. Show me some new moves!”

Hugo laughed, “you think you can handle the power of literature?”

And so the playfighting begins.

It lasts a long time, grunts and laughter filling the room at each others theatrics. But at some point, you realise that this is very quickly turning from innocent to a bit sexual. Hugo’s shirt is bunched up around his waist, the first few buttons having popped off after a particularly hard tug from you. His pants are riding low on his hips, giving you a sneaky glimpse to the edge of his underwear. You’d always noticed that Hugo seemed to have a very good amount of body hair. Now, it’s glaringly obvious. His chest and stomach are covered in the thick, dark strands. And he’s got a very unholy happy trail disappearing into the waistline of his trousers, and you really can’t help but wonder. Where else does he have this much hair? You’re both sweating gallons. But your eyes trace the way sweat drips down his neck and clings to his skin, to his chest hair-

He takes advantage of your distraction and lunges at you. It’s so damn sudden, that you can only yell as your world turns upside down in the matter of seconds. When you blink away the black spots in your vision, your breath gets stuck in your throat. Hugo’s face is right in front of yours, a crooked smile and effort squinted eyes staring at you in such pure innocent joy. His face is flushed, hair messy and matted down from the sweat pouring down his face. He’s pinning you down with all his weight, making you grunt. He’s incredibly good at this game, smart to see where you could definitely break out of the hold. You’re essentially half-pushed up against the wall, upper back resting against the cold material. His knees pin your hands to the floor, preventing you from pushing him off. But worst of all, he’s got your legs pinned right to your shoulders. Hell- you didn’t think you were still capable of bending like this, although your back is complaining. His hands are pushing up against the back of your knees, and despite how hard you try to kick off or push back Hugo is just too strong. It’s messing with your head-

“I- uh- don’t think this counts as a pin, Hugo,” you breathe out.

Hugo lights up, “you remembered! No it doesn’t, because your shoulders aren’t touching the floor.”

You tremble slightly in the hold, feeling sweat pour down your neck and gathering at the leather of your collar. Fuck, you must make a sight, your legs essentially framing the collar around your neck. You look up at him with half-lidded eyes.

“Then why- are you holding me down like this?”

His smile drops into a look of confusion, until it seems his brain catches up with him. And he seems to choke on his breath, hurriedly dropping your legs and letting you out the pin. He’s wringing his hands, so utterly nervous. Poor guy. You’d comfort him, but you’re still panting for breath on the floor. You let your face hand a bit, and your legs stretch out in front of you. Sweat drips off your face onto the floor in a disgusting puddle.

“L-look, I’m. I’m sorry, really. I hadn’t meant to put you in such an uncomfortable situation and I understand if you’re-”

“Hugo.”

“- mad at me or- or if you don’t want to come back! It was improper of me, to put you in such a weird position-”

“Hugo-”

“- I swear, it won’t happen aga-”

“Hugo!”

His mouth snaps shut, and he stares at you with the guiltiest puppy eyes. You stare back at him, unapologetic and unwavering.

“You know,” you whispered, “I’ve been wanting you to show me how to do a Rana pin.”

You were scared that maybe you’d gone a bit too far, but the look on Hugo’s face is worth the fear. You both know that he isn’t going to be teaching you any moves right now, and you know you wouldn’t be able to learn it anyways. So when comes back to kneel in front of you again, you’re expecting the tentative hands skimming over your skin. The touch is so soft, it sends subconscious shivers up your skin. He traces up your sides, rough hands wrapping around your shoulders and brushing up the curve of your neck. They pause at the edge of your collar, slipping two fingers gently under the leather and tugging. You breathe out a gasp, closing your eyes and letting your head drop backwards. His hands are restless but gentle, his right index hooked on the O-ring at the front. Hugo pulls you close by it, shyly bringing you in for a kiss. It’s pretty chaste and simple, until you playfully bite at his lower lip. He huffs, opening his mouth for you to slip your tongue in. The kiss gets deeper and more frantic. Hands clawing at each others clothes, hastily pulling them off each other.

Once you pull Hugo’s shirt off, you can’t help but sink your face into his chest. You nuzzle into it, relishing in the softness of his muscle and the scratchiness of his chest hair. He gasps, moving his hands down to squeeze at your sides. You lick at the sweat-addled skin, eyes fluttering at the taste of Hugo. You let out a sigh when Hugo’s hand moves past the waistband of your trousers and gropes at your sex. The whimper he lets out sends you dizzy with want. You’d forgone underwear all together, and you’re sure he can tell. His hand feels good despite how gentle and slow it is, so you buck your hips against it to get more friction. In exchange,, you bite and suck at his chest. Leaving marks that’ll eventually turn into bruises. Your hand sneaks down to Hugo’s formal trousers, unbuttoning them deftly and undoing the fly. You shimmy your own hand into his underwear, wrapping your hand around his dick and giving it a gentle squeeze. And God, he’s so sensitive, whining at the feeling of your dry hand around his dick. The sweat that had accumulated eases the slide a bit, but you still pull back to lick at your hand. It tastes salty, his sweat clinging to your hand. You make sure to let enough spit cover your hand, so when you wrap your hand back around Hugo’s dick it glides much more smoothly than before.

He’s desperate, rocking his hips weakly into your hand as you grind against his. You push your face further down his body, sucking at his nipples harshly and making him cry out. Although you can’t see his cock, you can feel veins wrapping around it as you pump it in the rhythm of his thrusts. It’s thick, enough to keep your fingertips away from each other. It’s a bit longer than average too. Soon, he curls up around you and spills into your hand. Shaking like a leaf ontop of you. You grind harder and harder into his hand. He kisses you, whimpering as he licks into your mouth with desperation. He pulls hard at your collar, thinning your breathing and making you come with a loud cry. You slump back against the wall and, as you stare at each other, you both begin to laugh.

[writer-and-lover]

😈

[writer-and-lover]

The Demon in My Bed

Day 4 of Kinktober: Terato | Rimming, demon fucking, demon/human, tit sucking, bruising, slight dacryphilia, slight scent kink, balls, cock, foreskin (tw) and fat man 💗💗💗

The whole thing felt like an old fairy-tale, although it definitely made you into the villain. The villain that dragged the little protagonist into his demise, into your bed. Shane had been so sweet recently, now that you had gotten married. Even sweeter, despite knowing that you were a clever little incubi. Trying to reassure you, probably. He was still mean at times, maybe because he knew how much you loved it. That means look on his face. But tonight, you took advantage of that honeymoon period. Shaking off your human cover, letting your human legs fade into the hooves you were more used to. Letting your tail unravel and appear, hooked around Shane’s ankle.

His hands wrapped around your horns, tight enough to hold him up. You trailed your mouth across his throat, pressing big teeth against the gentle pulse of his veins. So tempting. Maybe another day. Your clawed hands couldn’t help but roam Shane’s body. Dragging your claws down his soft sides, before groping into the soft flesh there. You groaned, leaning up from where’d you sank your head down into the juncture of Shane’s neck. His scruffy face was flushed, eyes glassy. You grinned at him.

“Enjoying having a big bad demon in your bed?”

He frowns, pushing your face away. “Shut up. Either make me feel good or get out my bed.” He winces at that, but you just laugh sharply, eyes darker.

“As you wish.”

You bow your back, face sinking into Shane’s fat pecs. The squeak he lets out is undignified and so is the face he makes once he feels your hot mouth round his nipple. The soft moans are littered with curses, as you suck and bite at the sensitive skin. You swap sides, giving Shane’s other pec the same attention. You can feel his hips buck and grind against yours, his dick leaking heavily against your skin. You growl happily, leaving his gorgeous fat tits and trailing down his stomach. You grope the soft fat on his stomach, biting at it happily and sucking each part of his skin. You lick up his stomach, from the very bottom of it right up to his sternum. Showing off, to him. Your tongue drags heavily against his skin, elongating. The end of it is split, up to a quarter of the way. Each end moving independently. And Shane- his eyes laser focused on it. Eyes wide and face flushed a deep deep scarlet.

“You- fuck- get that thing in me, please-!”

You groan at the mere thought, the mere suggestion. You were fulling expecting to ride this huge man to oblivion, maybe make him cum till he’s shooting blanks. But getting your tongue in him? And for him to ask for it so nicely? It was too good to pass up. You wriggled down the bed, wings fluttering and tail wagging behind you. You made sure to arch your back insanely low, giving Shane an eyeful of what more he could have. His dick, although average in length, is tantalisingly thick and uncircumsized. It makes you drool, seeing the soft beads of precum gather at his tip before leaking over the edge of his foreskin. You dig your tongue into it, wrapping both ends of it round the tip beneath the foreskin and squeezing. It pulls a yell out of him and thick, calloused hands dig into your head, pulling your hair harshly and making you hiss loudly. He sobs, apologizing and grabbing clumps of the bedsheets instead.

You move even lower, mouthing at his heavy balls and running a teasing hint of teeth over the sensitive. It makes him flinch. You laugh. You suck at one of his balls, groaning at the heady taste of musk. You lap at them for a while, ignoring Shane’s pleading and sobs. Slowly and subtly, you let your tongue stretch and reach towards Shane’s hole. As soon as the tip of his tongue touches the rim, he lets out a yell. His hips buck up against your face, forcing you to pin them down. You dig your nails there, letting the sharp tips dig into the skin. You pull your face below Shane’s sack, letting it rest against your face as well as his cock. You press the fat part of your tongue against the tight rim, sending Shane sobbing again.

“Ah- c’mon- you’re so fucking meaaan. Stop teasing me, oh Yoba, please! Stop stop stop.”

You laugh, teeth pressing against Shane’s skin. You let the tips of your tongue spear Shane’s hole, stretching him slowly over it before pulling back and pressing a dirty kiss over his rim. You suck at it gently, grazing teeth into the sensitive skin and listening intently to Shane’s reactions. He’s closed his hands over your wings, making you purr into his hole and wracking more sobs out of him.

A deal with a devil.

[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.

[writer-and-lover]

obsessed with going "who said that" knowing full well who said that

[writer-and-lover]

This was so cute!! Tried to find a cat colour that matches my cat but this is the closest i could get to <\3

I've got no more friends on tumblr so the family line ends w me /j

my picrew is done! i spent the past month working on it so id appreciate any support :-)

[writer-and-lover]

In The Deep Dark Woods

Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN! Reader

CW: Titfucking, Roleplay, CNC (very subtle mentions of pre-negotiated signs, triple taps to check in), Trans Ghost, T-Dick called Cock, use of word cunt.

Day 2 Kinktober: Roleplay | Titfucking

Running through the forest wasn’t your favourite thing to do. Specially not at night. Specially not when the shadows seemed to grow taller and taller by the minute and each noise could be your doom. Branches whipped at your face as you ran past. Rocks and logs seemed to appear out of thin air with the purpose of making you trip and stumble into the undergrowth.

Your chest heaved with each minute more you run. There’s no way you can pause, not even able to slow down at all. Your face burns, but the sweat covering your body makes you feel like you’re freezing. Your clothed in mere rags by now, your simple shirt and leggings haven been torn in the chase. You’re probably bleeding in several places, but you can’t tell from where. Your whole body aches. Helpless, you can’t help but slow down. Regardless of the fact that you can’t afford to do so. Regardless of the fact that he’s probably right behind you. It definitely feels like it. Maybe it’s the wind, but you feel as though his breath is right at the nape of your neck. Like his teeth could just sink into your spine any second now.

Your vision swims. Everything is too dark, too formless for you to really know where you’re going. But a large tree sticks out to you. It’s uprooted slight, base of it tilted up in such a manner that the roots form a small cover big enough to fit in. Big enough to hide in, in the dead of night. You lunge at it, crawling into it as fast as you can. Curling up, making sure you’re not sticking out anywhere.

It’s silent. Your breathing feels too loud, pulse pounding in your head. Like a drum. Like a goddamn siren, warning for danger.

A hand wraps around your ankle; you scream.

He doesn’t let you scream for long, his gloved hand covering your mouth harshly and digging into the soft skin. It’ll leave a mark, that’ll soon fade. But it hurts. Clawing at his arm doesn’t work, neither does pushing. But he groans as he watches you struggle, as he watches you writhe under him. He looks like death, military gear blending into the night and leaving only the broken, ivory mask. A stark contrast to the dark surrounding him. The hand wrapped around your face, covering your mouth looks deadly, the contrast of the skeletal hand against the rough, dark leather terrifying in it’s own right. Like the grim reaper, personally fishing out your soul from the warm nestle of your body. His other hand comes down, ripping the scraps of your shirt completely off of your body.

You can’t see his eyes, but you feel the gentle tap of his hand against your ribs. One two three. You give him three gentle taps back.

The hand turns rough, digging into the fat of your stomach. Squeezing, sure to leave bruises. On the verge of tearing your skin apart. The rough leather scratches down your side at the same time that the hand around your mouth wraps around your throat. A threat. He lets out a soft hiss, shushing you. You sob. His hands are rough. Pinching, twisting. And then- they let go. His hands let go of your body, and he moves backwards. Disappearing out of the tree’s opening. Your breath catches in your throat, eyes wide. His gloved hand shoots towards you, grabbing you by the ankle.

He drags you out of your little haven, unflinching at your screaming and kicking. Until you hit his mask. It cracks down the middle and you both freeze. Time ticks by. Or perhaps it freezes. You can’t even see his reaction. Both hands clamp down on your legs, pulling you even closer. Rendering you useless. Because you both know, that no matter how hard you fight. He’s a trained professional, and you’re just the nice person who gives him coffee. He straddles your midsection, pressing his full weight down on top of you. It makes you grunt, tears building up on your waterline.

“Shh, pretty thing,” he murmurs, “let me just take what I need.”

His accent had been attractive, before this. Voice rough, and deep in a way you hadn’t heard before. But now, it sounds like a predator’s. Even as he whispers. Even as he fakes softness.

“You looked so pretty, I just had to have you. You’ll let me, won’t you?” His gloves grope at your chest. Pinching harshly at your nipples and pulling when you cry out. “So loud, don’t make me gag you.”

You bite your lip, tears slipping down the side of your face to your hairline. You can’t help the soft whimpers that he pulls out of you, with each harsh squeeze. He curses. Hands scrambling at his belt, rushing to pull down his zipper and undo the buttons. Pushing down the fabric of his pants below his thighs, past his knees and round his ankles. He flings them off. His cunt is wet, must’ve soaked through both pairs of clothes. It smears down your midsection, coating your skin in his precum. It clings, specially as he drags his cunt up your torso and towards your chest. His groans are louder now, nearly overshadowing your own whimpering and muffled cries. His cock twitches under it’s hood, deep red from how hard it is at the sight of you. He rumbles.

“You’ll be good for me, won’t you?” He squeezes your chest together with both hands. “You’ll make me feel good.”

"Ple-please,” you sob.

He grinds hard against the middle of your chest. The way he’d squeezed your chest together allowed him to have a small space for him to sink into. You could feel as each push into it smeared more and more slick against your skin. How his cock pulsed and his cunt squeezed around nothing. You grabbed at his arms again, clawing at the skin under the tac clothes. It didn’t deter him at all, instead making him moan unabashedly into your ear as he slumped forward. His thrusts became harsher. Shaking your hand away, he moves his own hand down towards his cunt. Sinking two fingers down to the knuckle in one simple motion. It shakes him, and makes you drool at the sight. It isn’t long until he lets out a hoarse cry, soaking your skin further as his cum coats your torso and chest. He smears it deeper into your skin.

You grin, wide and open mouthed. Grabbing his hips shakily. He laughs. It’s your turn.

[writer-and-lover]

The Tiny and the Giant

Kinktober Day 1: Leather | Micro/Macro - Lucifer (Obey Me)

@justwolosers

Parties in the human world were loud. Boisterous. Down-right illegal at time.  Usually hosted and attended by young, energetic teenagers or young adults, the drinks limited to cheap corner shop liquor and maybe a few lines of coke or ketamine injections. Or weed. Bright lights in dark houses, pool parties and bathroom make outs. That was what you were used to.

Parties in the devildom were a whole different level. You’d noticed that a lot of the laws, if there were any, were extremely lax. And the parties definitely reflected that. Scantily clad demons, some forgoing clothes all together, drugs, potions, drinks- are those sex toys? Nothing seemed to be being held back. Asmodeus was at least excited for the both of you. He’d been the one to invite you as his plus-one, as it was a requirement. The invite also stressed the importance of dress-code; the least clothes possible. That hadn’t been an issue for you, really. You’d been to your fair share of leather parties and 18+ drag shows. The nudity wasn’t an issue at all. You’d picked a less daring outfit, a simple black leather harness that hugged your chest nicely, with leather jeans and black spiked punk boots. A simple leather collar was wrapped around your neck, a silver O-ring hanging from the front by a chain with matching earrings to boot. When you’d shown Asmo, you had nearly lost the trousers. Permanently. But now at the party, you realise that maybe- you’re a bit overdressed. You can’t see any demon or spirit wearing anything past their thighs. Only half of them are even wearing clothes on their lower bodies.

You drank merrily throughout the night, chatting with the nicer demons and kindly but insistently declining the… offers… from the succubi and incubi, which was made easier by Asmo’s eager offer of substituting for you. The pool was out of limits for you, being kept boiling, but everything else was just in reach for you and human safe. Except perhaps the drugs, you weren’t sure. And whilst the potions were tempting, Lucifer’s warning about taking “strange” and “unknown” potions echoed in your mind. But the alcohol was so good, pooling at the bottom of your chest with heavy molten heat. It brought warmth to your face, making you smile dopily.

That smile was wiped clean when a bottle shattered over your head.

A succubus hadn’t taken kindly to your rejection. Perhaps jealous that Asmo could get you every night (which wasn’t… actually true.) The contents of the bottle, whatever they had been, covered you in a sticky manner and soaked into your clothes. Someone screamed, glass probably falling onto the demon that had been talking with you. Or maybe it was because you’d fallen to the floor from the hit. Blood dripping slightly down your face.

Everything had been a whirlwind after that, Asmo scooping you up off the floor, a large scuttle, shouts, screams and soft hands dabbing at your head. You were dizzy, eyesight blurry from the liquid and the alcohol in your system. You closed your eyes for a while, but every time you opened them you were somewhere different. It all looked different. Each time, things seemed to grow larger, more daunting. The succubus must have dunked a potion on your head, perhaps a incoherence one? Was there such thing? But there’s still several voices around you, soft, hushed and panicked. One of them, Asmo’s, seems to be trying to both comfort you and argue with a second voice. A third voice joins the party, and they argue, their voices growing louder and louder and more ear-splitting and- and-

A rough, baritone voice ceases all sound with just one word. And you fall unconscious.

When you next wake up, it’s to a soft blanket underneath you. Or what you thought was a blanket. When you sit up to scan your surroundings, you notice that you’re sitting on a very familiar handkerchief. Very familiar. On further investigation, you realise that everything around you is now insanely big. You’ve shrunk. The goddamn cunt had thrown a shrinking potion on you. The clothes you’d been wearing had also shrunk to your size, although they feel slightly tighter than they had before you’d been turned into the size of one of Levi’s figurines.

Footsteps snap you out of your reverie, and Lucifer, now turned into an extra intimidating giant, scowls down at you.

“If I’m correct, I told you not to take any strange potions, correct?”

His pompous attitude makes you frown, and you stand up on your makeshift bed. Pointing accusingly at him.

“I’ll have you know,”  you wince, voice a higher pitch, “I didn’t willingly get doused in a shrinking potion! It was completely without my consent!”

Lucifer sighs, “I should not have let you go to that party at all. That was a bad lapse in my judgement.” He sits down on the chair and sets his crossed arms down on the table, leaning down towards you. “From now on, you’ll avoid all parties, unless me or one of the angels can accompany you.”

“WHAT?!”

You step off the bed, more like a makeshift futon, and stomp up to the posh bastard. Getting close to his face (and dangerously close to his mouth) you yell at him.

“That’s not fair at all! We were doing just fine until that jealous bastard got all in their feelings!” You pout, “plus, can you imagine taking Luke to a demon party?! I wouldn’t be able to LOOK at a demon, much less drink with one!”

Lucifer hums. He straightens up, and shrugs off his jacket. His eyes are dark when he looks at you again. You shiver, looking away when you remember the clothing you’re wearing. You didn’t think it would catch his eye but… there’s weirder things than a shortened half-naked protegee. You glance at him, noticing the way his shirt seems to hug his arms. He fills out the shirt and vest nicely, the second largest of his family for sure. You can’t help but drool over him. Your mind still muddled from last night’s alcohol.

“There is a way for you to make it up to me…”

- - -

Demon were cunning and creative. That’s why deals were such bad ideas for humans. Not that you’ve ever taken your own advice.

Taking the deal with Lucifer had been stupid, to say the very least. The most cunning of his brothers, only topped in the devildom by Diavolo and Barbatos, Lucifer knew how to play you like a goddamn fiddle and get what he wanted. Which was you on your back with your legs spread like melted butter, apparently. Leather trousers torn down the seam and leaving your crotch in Lucifer’s relentless gaze. Because of course you had forgone underwear.

His pointer fingers wraps around the chain around your neck, pulling as gently as he can. It still pulls you up quite harshly, but at least it didn’t take your head of completely. You try to complain, but his mouth surrounding your crotch turns your complaint into a very unsexy squeak. His mouth can’t get much movement in, but that’s not an issue for you. The rough, cat-like texture of his tongue sends your eyes rolling to the back of your head, and short gasps heave against your chest. Lucifer’s own eyes are closed, focusing on dragging that sinful tongue of his over your sensitive skin over and over again.

“Ah-,” you’re cut off by your own breath catching in your chest. Lucifer hummed. It was torture, the way it sent vibrations all around your body. You writhed, held down by a soft giant hand around your midsection. So effortlessly keeping you pinned. You sobbed, begging for more, for mercy, for the slightest bit of reprieved. Which only made Lucifer moan, the power getting to his head. Your small hands did no damage to him. He sucked gently.

Your orgasm was so sudden, so overwhelmingly new. Nerves fire hot. It leaves you seeing white, head thudding against the table Lucifer had laid you on. When you finally regain control of your body, you feel exhausted. Body heavy from the earth-shattering orgasm Lucifer had given you. Lucifer. The head of the household, the supposedly most responsible man in the house. Fuck.

He scoops you up in his calloused hand, and sets you down again on the handkerchief bed. Tucking you in with a corner of it. Sleep drags your eyes shut, into a sweet, Lucifer filled dream.

[writer-and-lover]

what it feels like scrolling through the hobie brown x male reader tag

no hate at all to writers, i admire you guys sm😭

[writer-and-lover]

Me putting on my funky girlypop playlist after listening to my evil little separate playlist