kisses4kaia - Tumblr blog

kisses4kaia · 18 hours

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im so addicted to your art angel and i haven’t even seen this yet😪😪

sweet as a grape

description. ART DONALDSON lost a match, leading him to sulking at the hotel bar. when you slide up next to him he starts to feel like he won.

includes. SMUT MDNI 18+, submissive art, no challengers spoilers, fem!reader, sex w a stranger, drinking (but no drunk sex), masochism, dry humping, virgin coded/inexperienced art, choking, gagging (self inflicted), brief rimming, slight overstimulation, lots of allusions to masturbation, allusions to edging, art is a fucking freak

wc. 3.6k+

a/n: this is all based on assumption since challengers has yet to be released at time of posting. artwork is nighthawks by edward hopper. title from too sweet by hozier. some plot inspiration taken from @too-deviant's ray bans

Art Donaldson knows he's good at tennis. He knows he's great, and he knows that with greatness comes attention. Reporters always looking to get an exclusive from him, coaches always looking to take credit for the gained speed in his serve, brand, and companies looking to put his face on something, and people throwing themselves at him, begging for even a glance so they would have a story to tell their friends.

He knows this. But it still comes as a shock whenever people prettier than he thinks he deserves turn their attention to him. It's still a shock when you, a being with far too much beauty and grace, slides up next to him.

He smells you before he sees you. A sweet scent wafted to his nose, hitting him against the face with a pleasant slap. Then he senses you, the aura that radiates off of your body. Warm and comforting, even with the blistering heat from out that is attempting to permeate the hotel bar. He doesn't gather the courage to look at you until you speak. And your voice, God there's something about it. Something that makes Art's muscles loosen for the first time in hours, as the smooth lilt of your tone is a nice change of pace from the grunts on the court and the grating ridicule from the reporters asking him about the match, all disappointed faces reminding him that he lost.

But sitting here, on a barstool next to you, Art begins to feel like he won.

"I'll have what he's having," you tell the bartender with absolute confidence. You're leaning on the counter just a bit in an attempt to make your voice clearer, your ass perked up in the air enough to grab Art’s attention. He doesn't mean to look, really, but as he brings his glass to his lips he can't help how his eyes cut to the side briefly.

Besides, the skirt of your dress is long enough to cover your backside.

Art shakes his head. "You don't want what I’m having." He shouldn't be having anything right now. He might have lost his match, but this isn't the end. The alcohol will only slow his recovery, he knows this, but his half-assed reasoning of needing to drown his sorrows took over his mind, settling into his frontal lobe and steering his choices.

The bartender is already sliding a replica of Art's drink your way. You raise it and Art clinks his glass with yours. Then he watches you taste it. It's strong, straight liquor placed on ice which barely does anything to make it smoother, but you take it like a champ. You only take a sip, though, your eyes squeezed shut as it goes down before you place the glass back onto the counter and wave the bartender over again.

You flick your tongue out to catch a drip of liquor that missed your mouth. It’s so pathetic how just that one movement makes Art shift in his seat.

This time, you order something sweeter. Something more your style Art figures. Art doesn't think before he orders one for himself, too, and follows up the order by telling the bartender to place these drinks and any that will follow on his tab.

It doesn't take long before he confirms that you know who he is. But you're subtle about it. Your recognition comes in your glances. The way you narrow your eyes. The way you smile and laugh at his poorly made jokes. The way you ask him how he's doing—your tone a little firmer, as if you'd been in the stands today watching the close match that ultimately led to a loss. And it's then that Art recognizes you, too.

He'd seen you briefly, just one glance before he was turning back to focus on the match. Your eyes had been covered by a pair of sunglasses then, but at the end of the match when everyone else was cheering for the winner, Art saw you cheering for him. Stood at the entrance to the locker rooms, your stacked bracelets glinting in the sunlight as you clapped. The sound of his blood rushing to his ears had been deafening then, the red in your eyes distorted every image. At the time, he believed that not one clap was in his favor. But yours surely was.

He can't tell if your intentions are really any different than anyone else who has tried to sleep with him, but he doesn't care. Because he just wants you so bad.

And for once in his life, he lets himself have what he wants. He accepts that he's a desired person, even on his off day, and he takes you, possibly the most desirable person he'd ever laid eyes on, upstairs to his room, and lets you have your way with him.

He lets himself show a side he’s never shown to anyone else before. A side that is only seen when he’s tugging his cock all alone, his mind helpfully conjuring up images as he sped up the flick of his wrist, only to slow his motions down to a stop on his own accord. And he would continue the delicious torture, for as long as his mind and body could conjure, especially if he lost a match.

This is a more compliant side. Less of a persona he’s put on for the media, and more of a man who just wants to please and be pleased.

Tonight, with you laying back on his bed and waiting for him, he considers his options. He doesn’t know if he should continue his usual routine of self-inflicted torment. Or if he should give into you completely and lose himself amongst the nectar that’s gathered between your thighs. When he sees the imprint of your arousal, he decides that he’ll go along with whatever you want from him.

It doesn’t take much for him to live up to his promise.

You’re lying on your side, your head resting in your hand as you smile up at him lazily. You’d both had your last drink a while ago, and with the way they were spaced out Art doesn’t think you’re drunk. He’s not drunk, but he still feels elated. He feels like a teenage boy when you beckon him over and he complies willingly, crawling towards you until he’s sitting on his haunches.

You lay on your back, staring up at him, blinking up at him. And Art waits. He waits and waits until he realizes you’re waiting for him to make the first move.

He bends down and presses his lips to yours. The shape of the kiss is awkward since Art’s position forces your lips to align together at a perpendicular angle. But you don’t mind it. You let the initial press linger for a second before you place one of your hands onto his side and pull him towards you. Art interprets your pull as wanting him to land atop you and he does.

The bed is large enough that only his feet hang off when he straddles you, placing only the weight of his bottom half over you and holding his top half up with a hand pressed into the mattress.

His other hand settles on the thin strap of your dress. The material hangs off of the angular end of your shoulder, just close enough to fall off. Art doesn’t know if he initially intended to pull it down or push it back up. But you look up at him, your eyebrows slightly raised. It’s a look he knows well. He’s seen it on many opponents who doubted him.

You’re challenging him.

He pulls the strap down and that’s all it takes for you to take his face in both of your hands and pull his lips to yours. You have some unexpected strength in you. Your tug throws Art off of his balance until his chest collides with yours. You’re not deterred at all, your leg hiking up over Art’s hip as you press your foot into his lower back.

Your dress must have slipped up somewhere along the way because Art can feel the warmth of your center pressing against his pants. He does it subconsciously, not even realizing what he’s doing until you reciprocate the movement, but he’s grinding into you with long and languid swipes of his boner into your arousal.

There comes a point where the two of you need to pull your lips away from the other. But Art stubbornly doesn’t want to. His lungs ache for a breath. His head screams at him, telling him that kissing you can’t be more important than breathing. But for a moment there, just a single moment, Art believes that it is.

When you pull away first, Art tries not to take it personally.

“Will you fuck me?” You ask him through your breaths. Your question takes Art by surprise. Your words are so blunt. A little crude. But they stiffen the pressure in his trousers. He likes how assertive you are. It has his head spinning and somehow he manages to hide how desperate he is in his reply.

“Only if you ride me.”

Not much can be hidden whenever you’re on top of him.

You’re staring down at him, likely with a view not too dissimilar from Birdseye. Art knows that like this, he’s probably spread out before you like he’s on an examination table. From the heavens, you’re able to notice every single thing about him that you choose to.

The way his breath hitches when you sink on him. The way he’s a little lost behind the eyes, the two big blue windows unfocused enough to suggest how much pleasure he’s getting from this. He starts to feel a little insecure, but then you bring a graceful hand down and push his damp blond hair off of his forehead, providing the ventilation needed.

Gratefully, his eyes fall closed and his head tips back. You bring your hand down to cup his cheek and Art instinctively turns his head just enough to place a blind kiss into the center of your palm.

“Will you look at me, Art?”

You ask him so politely, your voice just as sweet as it was earlier in the night when he’d only been imagining something like this. He wishes you were a little firmer with him, but he still obeys, slowly peeling his eyes open.

He’s instantly grateful that he did. Because for just a brief second, he forgot just how divine the image above him was.

Your body is almost completely bare since the top half of your dress has been pulled down to reveal your tits. They shake with each movement. With each controlled way you sink down onto him. In the same way he’s in his element on the court, he figures that you’re in your element here. You look so natural like this, stripped by the wish to satisfy your most basic need. But you’re so good at this. He wonders if you’d had as much practice at this as he has with his craft. Not that it matters to him, especially since any previous practice you could have had would have only contributed to this time, making it as heavenly as it could possibly be. But Art thinks he wants to practice this, like this, with you more often.

The way your cunt takes him in is hidden by the skirt of your dress. With a hand more shaky than expected, Art lifts the hem and the sight he’s blessed with makes him dizzy. He has to take a controlled breath, look away, and then come back to it.

Your pussy is so pretty. He can’t see much from this angle, and he wishes he could see more, but he can both see and feel how wet you are. In a risky move, you’d allowed Art to forgo a condom and he sincerely hopes he won’t regret it later. The last thing he needs during the height of his career is a bastard with his eyes and a monthly check written to a one-night stand. But when he’s able to feel you intimately and see how your essence is shining his dick, he can’t regret anything.

Everything seems like it was meant to be at this moment. Even the damned neon ball that escaped his racket by just an inch that brought him to the bar this evening anyway.

“Here,” you mumble. Art doesn’t know exactly what you’re referencing until you knock his hand away and replace it with your own. You lift your dress over your head and throw it to the floor where it joins Art’s already discarded clothes. Now you’re both even in terms of nudity. But the fields are definitely still uneven.

You have complete control in this setting. Art doesn’t mind it one bit.

You reach your hands down and take Art’s grasp in yours, directing his rough palms up to your body. You place his touch on your waist, but getting the feeling that he’s allowed to touch more than that, he lifts his hands up and grazes his fingertips over your erect nipples.

Your reaction is appreciative so Art does the movement again. He’s amid his third swipe when he remembers something. The magic button one of his old hitting partners told him about one afternoon during unwanted locker room talk.

He sticks two fingers into his mouth, unable to help the way he stuffs them a little too far back. He only stops when he gags just once, and then he pulls the digits out, satisfied by how slick they are, and brings them between your thighs.

It takes a moment for him to find it. He curses under his breath when he misses the first time, and grunts when he misses it the second time, but the third time is the charm. He presses at first, attempting to see if he’d found it. And when your hips jerk, he begins to draw on his memory and starts circling your clit.

You moan, your head tipping back as you start to ride Art with more fervor. More passion is behind the way you move your hips. More determination is in the way your hands press into his torso to ground yourself. You have one hand below his navel, manicured nails scratching his happy trail while your other hand slides up higher and higher.

And just when Art thinks you’re going to reach your target, you stop. The base of your hand presses into the top of Art’s sternum while your fingers lay across his collarbones. You’re so close. Just a little …

“Higher. Please.”

You don’t say anything, you don’t give him a look, you just do as he says. You push your hand up higher until you find the other end of the magnet.

When your fingers wrap around his throat, Art groans from deep in his stomach. It comes from a place he’s only ever accessed during an intense game. Never during something like this. Briefly, he wonders if this could be considered a game. But if it is, it’s one he’s losing. He’s not even bothering to fight back. You’re dominating him and he likes it. Hell, he fucking adores it.

You’re the one in control here, so it’s only natural that Art asks for your permission to cum.

The need steadily approaches, pushing through his body, working its way through the maze until it finds the end which leads directly up into you.

“‘m close,” he warns. “Can I cum? Please? Will you make me cum?”

You nod fervently. Art sighs, he relaxes into the bed with a delusional belief that he’ll get to cum any moment now.

Your words clear things up for him. “Make me cum first, Art. Then I’ll return the favor. Deal?”

He doesn’t pout or complain. He just agrees. “Deal.”

He uses his free hand to grip your hip and speeds up his touch on your clit. His fingerpads slip down just a bit to gather more wetness, and then he brings his touch right back up and settles it right onto the part of your clit that protrudes the most.

The sight of you cumming is so beautiful. Just this one hit, this one time, is surely enough to make Art addicted. While he watches you cum, taking in the way your chest pushes your tits out and your head throws back, revealing the gorgeous line of your neck, he thinks that he wouldn’t mind if you had his kid. As long as it guaranteed that you would always be in his life.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get to make his sex-hazed thought a reality as you pull off of him, ignoring the way your cunt is gripping him with resistance. You settle beside him, sitting with your legs tucked under you. Your hand comes to Art’s cock, and it only takes a few strokes before his hips are lifting and he’s cumming.

You press your lips to his while he releases, stroking him determinedly while you kiss him messily, lots of saliva and tongue swapping between the both of you. When your hand around his throat tightens just a bit, Art’s hips stutter, and his cock twitches in your hand. He can feel you grin against his lips.

“Let me clean you up?” You ask him with the prettiest smile. He’s dazed when he nods, not really knowing what he’d just agreed to. When you settle between his legs, Art almost backs out. He’s still sensitive, he knows it without you even touching him. But it’s rude to push a pretty girl away when she’s offering to use her mouth on him.

So he sits through it.

He fists the bed sheets and tries to swallow his groans whenever you lick the cum off of his torso. He accidentally whimpers when you wrap your lips around his tip. And he can’t hold off the deep moan that pushes out of him when you allow his cock to sink into your mouth.

This cavern is different than the last. A little rougher, but the constant pressure and warmth from your tongue is comforting. He was already softening whenever you first took him in your mouth, but his dick is allowed a single moment of rest. He hardens inside of your mouth, and when he’s ready, you start to suck him off.

It’s embarrassing how quickly he’s close. But he can’t really hold off when you use your hands to push his legs a little further apart, and you abandon his dick for a brief second to bring your tongue lower, pushing the muscle along his pink-clenched rim before you drift back up. Art’s gasp is pitiful. Even to his own ears, he sounds like something out of a porno, his voice wobbling as he moans, sounding like he’ll cry at any moment.

His back arches and he decides he needs more of you. He takes a bit more control, even though it happens accidentally. He presses a hand into the back of your head and rams his cock up into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat more than once and triggering your gag reflex.

When he cums this time, it’s in your mouth, and you suck him clean again. He moans your name all the while, the syllables becoming more broken each time he repeats it. He thinks he’s praising you, but he doesn’t know what he’s saying. For a second there, he doesn’t even know where he is.

Then, when he comes down, he’s silent. He’s like a cat with the way he shudders. He’s absolutely spent, labored breathing reverberating throughout the otherwise silent hotel room. You slide up to his chest, laying your head in the center. Your hand has been taken off of his neck and delicately placed into his hair.

You play with the curls for a second before speaking.

“You okay?”

He nods, letting himself catch his breath a little more before he speaks.

“Yeah. More than okay. You?” He brings a hand to your back, pulling you closer to him. You’re staring up at him from his chest, and like this, you look innocent. Heavy eyes blinking up at him, your lips pulled into a smile.

You hum affirmatively. “Shower? Or bath?”

Art laughs a little when he says, “Bath. Definitely a bath.” He knows that his legs would be a little too shaky to withstand a shower, and as he follows you into the bathroom, his suspicions are confirmed. He’s satisfied to see you struggle a bit with stepping into the tub.

Sex with you was fucking amazing, and somehow, the ease with the two of you hasn’t diminished. You’re both sober, any alcohol that could have remained in your systems definitely been expelled by now, but you’re just as charming. And Art is just as relaxed around you.

He thinks that he could exist with you for a while.

When he awakes on his own the morning after, he thinks he was too wishful the night before. Maybe he’d been reading way too much into something that was solely a one-night stand. He sits at the edge of the bed, head hung and tail tucked, but then his mood improves just a bit when he sees your panties laid forgotten on the floor. Even when he throws them with the rest of his clothes from his suitcase, he doesn’t let his mood improve too much.

He has pissed, showered, and is standing over the sink to brush his teeth when he sees your note attached to the mirror.

had to leave. thought you had things to do. call me sometime. or come visit. room 1046, here until tomorrow. xx

The note is placed carefully with the rest of his belongings.

#*ੈ✩‧₊˚ kaia adores !#right #she gets it

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kisses4kaia · 1 day

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well yes!

thinking about tashi and art from challengers. thinking about being another tennis player at stanford who actually shows promise. you go to the courts religiously every morning and every other afternoon to perfect your groundstrokes and your volleys. other students barely play against you anymore, and it’s tough to find a partner for any sort of match. that is, until you catch tashi’s eye. well, according to tashi— art claims he saw you first. she says it doesn’t matter anyway, because she’s the one who approached you when art didn’t have the balls to do so.

tashi starts playing you more often and—granted— you don’t stand a chance against her either way. but you love the challenge. it starts becoming a common reoccurrence, until it reaches the point when you don’t even consider asking anyone else to play you. you simply sit by one of the benches, toying with your racket until tashi arrives. you’re not sure when it became routine, waiting around for tashi, nor when art began watching your matches against her from the bleachers. his presence was easily discardable during the matches… at first. but then you slowly grew aware of the other set of eyes watching you during practice.

you thought he was tashi’s boyfriend. you thought he was her boyfriend— until your shared afternoon in the locker rooms with tashi. you could barely stand up when you left, cheeks flushed and tennis skirt crooked. little did you know, tashi told art every single dirty thing about you in detail. the way you moaned, the way you bucked, the way your back arched and you begged her for more.

needless to say, they both made it their mission to see you like that again.

- 🍒

threesomes; oral (f receiving); MDNI 18+ w/ ART DAVIDSON & TASHI DUNCAN

art finds you in the dining hall a few days later.

you're by yourself, sitting under tashi's poster and flipping through a mass market book the size of art's hand. he doesn't hesitate to approach you, a friendly smile on his face as he asks you if the seat in front of you is taken.

you shake your head, dog-earing your book at the same time as you slouch in your seat and kick the chair out for art. easily, he sits, places his tray on the table, and slides the peach your way.

you don't have a tray in front of you. art doesn't know if you just finished eating, or if you were planning to eat at all, but he knows you like peaches. you take the peach, peel the sticker off, and take a bite.

you open your mouth as if you're going to speak, but art beats you to it.

"you and tashi are getting pretty close." he doesn't mean anything malicious by it. at least, he doesn't think he means anything malicious. he's still smirking, maybe less friendly and a little more teasing by now, and he's tapping the edge of the plastic tray with the blunt nail on his pointer finger.

you lift your eyebrows and chew slowly before you bother responding.

"yeah. we're friends."

art knows that's not necessarily true. he nods, dropping his head briefly.

when he speaks, it's to his salad. "right."

"what's that supposed to mean, art?"

art shrugs, sticking his bottom lip out a bit. he looks behind you at the picture of tashi in her element. he remembers that match. one of the early ones in the season where everyone had been excited to see tashi duncan play in her newly acquired red gear. art had arrived early that day and caught the tail end of your match on the court next to where tashi was going to play. he remembers the immediate infatuation he had with you. how graceful you looked on the court, yet you were able to put just enough power into your shots.

his eyes find yours again. you look like you're ready to accuse him of something, and likely be right. he's not being the most subtle person ever, but that wasn't his aim. he wanted what tashi has and this time he wants to do something about it.

"nothing. i just think you two are a little close for friends."

you sit and watch art. you take another bite of the peach and juice drips onto your lips and under your chin. you lick it clean without a second thought.

"right."

art leans forward, pushing his tray out to the side. "she told me about that day, you know."

you scoff and mirror art's position.

his eyes flicker to your lips when he says, "come on, you had to have known she would've told me. we're friends, remember? all of us."

"are we friends in the way that you and tashi are friends, or in the way that tashi and i are friends?"

you take another bite from your peach and once again, juice drips down. art doesn't hesitate in the way he reaches out, swipes his thumb under your lip to catch the liquid, and then sticks his thumb into his mouth to clean it up. he was likely smooth with it, but his heart pumps so hard that he can feel it in his throat. he swallows before he speaks.

"is there a difference?" he phrases it like a question, but you both know it isn't. you both know the answer.

it's a good thing that you, tashi, and art are such good friends who can do things like this together. sitting on art's bed, combatting your mutual boredom with something much more interesting. art sitting beside you, his back pressed against the wall and his legs spread to accommodate your body. he has a hand on your back, sometimes trailing down to your ass which has your feet folded beneath it. you face tashi who sits just on the outside of art's left leg, her position mirroring yours.

her hands cup your face at first, but once you tug her closer by her fitted jacket, she trails her hands down to lift the hem of your sweatshirt just enough to press her hands into your abdomen. she starts to lift the fabric completely, but it's then that art takes over. you feel his hand sliding up your back and your sweatshirt going with it until he gets to where your bra should be.

except, there's nothing there.

you can hear art's breath hitch as he slides his hand around to your front and swipes his thumb over your nipple. you make a startled noise, and tashi drinks it right up. she digs her fingers into the waistband of your shorts and pulls you closer, as close as you can get with art's leg between you both.

sensing the boundary created, art switches his position. he slides up behind you, giving you and tashi free reign to press your bodies together. meanwhile, he gathers your sweatshirt in both hands and lifts it, gently urging you to separate from tashi for long enough for him to throw the fabric off of your body and onto his floor completely.

tashi is quick to attach her hands to your tits and art is quick to pepper kisses along your shoulders and back.

the rhythm is so easy, completely void of any hesitation, except that which exists for consent.

it's a rhythm that only such good friends could have created and mastered.

here, like this, hidden under the pretense of the three of you being such good friends, do they finally get to see you how they wanted. tashi gets to see you again, and art gets to put her words to visuals. and tashi was so right. her words had seemed almost unnecessarily vivid at the time, even though art greatly appreciated it. but how could she not describe this sight vividly?

the way your chest reached towards the ceiling as tashi used her mouth on you, your pert nipples sitting prettily at the peaks of your breasts. the veins in your arms poking through your skin briefly as you placed your hand in tashi’s hair, which art is sure she left loose for this exact occasion. your sounds, god art doesn’t think he’ll ever forget them. the prettiest whines almost mewls slipping past your parted lips and greeting the air. only when art didn’t have his mouth attached to yours that is.

it’s like he couldn’t keep himself away. he had to touch you however he could. but he wasn’t good at this, he didn’t know where he should fit into he equation with tashi occupying the spot he usually aimed for. so he explored. he pressed his lips anywhere they could reach, and he found a favored spot along your tits. he couldn’t help but suck marks along them, even though he didn’t exactly know how you would feel about it.

but when he looks back on his work peeking out through your tank top hours later, he’s glad he left them there.

#*ੈ✩‧₊˚ kaia adores !#ohhhhh #icarus you outdo yourself #every time #luv!!!!!

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kisses4kaia · 1 day

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can i marry you

könig with a reader who has a tongue piercing. 💉

tw/cw; sub!könig (but not whiney könig, frustrated könig), teasing, dom!gn!reader, blowjob, handjob. 18+

; testing your new tongue piercing on your boyfriend.

after looking online for new tongue piercings, you came across something more... exciting. a vibrating tongue piercing, used during oral sex to enhance the experience. a little experiment on your boyfriend, you could say.

könig loves receiving a blowjob, like most men do. he's obsessed with the sensation of your soft lips wrapped tightly around his veiny shaft, rubbing the cold metal ball on your tongue against his sensitive tip teasingly. könig rolls his eyes backwards deliriously, his eyebrows furrowed together when you press your new, fun piercing against his weeping tip, the vibrations sending shivers down his spine.

his grasp on your hair tightens, his dick twitching and throbbing at the pleasurable, newfound sensation. könig isn't the type to use sex toys on himself, but fuck, this gave könig a whole new perspective on his own pleasure and euphoria.

könig's cock glistens, your saliva dripping from your lips, coating könig's dick in a glimmer of your spit. his balls are tight and heavy, full of his hot arousal, his core tightening with his orgasm inching closer with each stroke. you giggled at the effect you had on könig, pulling away just as he felt he was about to come, warning him not to do so until you gave him permission. könig gritted his teeth frustratedly, attempting to hold himself back from thrusting up into your mouth, to throat fuck you until you were reduced to nothing but a fleshlight for his dick.

his cock ached at the warm and wet sensation of your mouth around his length. you wrapped your soft fingers around his girth, stroking him gently, slow strokes causing grunts and groans to flow from deep in his chest. you pulled könig's fingers from your hair, placing them beside his muscular thighs, holding his hands down while you sucked him off sloppily, the vibrations against könig's dick causing him to shudder and choke on his moans.

fuck, he felt slightly guilty about disobeying you, but he couldn't help himself. his tip began to weep, shooting strings of his creamy, milky stickiness into your mouth, the bitter taste lingering on your tongue.

looks like you'll have to tie him up with rope and run your vibrating piercing along his dick for hours as punishment for his misbehaviour, ‘til his cheeks are flushed and he's drooling all over himself.

#*ੈ✩‧₊˚ kaia adores !#yeah!!!!!!!#koko 🐊 !

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kisses4kaia · 2 days

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please i am on my knees begging for billy…you write him so well…

yes baby whatever you want—implication oral sex (f recieving) but no real smut i fear :((, very very very slight internalized misogyny (r is just jealous), billy being a cocky dick (the best kind)

billy was yours and that was that.

with that damn leash you kept on him, it was never questioned why billy never went home with any girls at the saloon after a game of poker, whether he won or lost. because as probable as it was the sun would come up the next day, it was just as likely it would be you he’d lay in bed next to, fucking you with just about as much passion as he would have exerted in a goddamn battlefield.

you never had to worry about him straying, because you knew you had him and nobody could ever replace what you give him in a lover, but that never meant his born reckless soul wasn’t going to push boundaries.

she had painted fingernails, corset cinched to the maximum degree of discomfort, and a flawless, straight-like-a-ruler, smile. she came from money and her name was something like margaret, or margaux—something french, probably. she was classy and beautiful and not billy’s type. you could have laughed when you saw her saunter over to billy’s barstool.

before looking at her, he paid her no mind, listening to her talk about how lonely he looked on a beautiful evening like this one, and how he doesn’t look like he belongs here. the same tired lines every girl used every time, and he probably would have shooed her away if his eyes hadn’t landed on the daggers you shot at her with your shattering gaze.

his smirk was quick to make itself known, letting his eyes run over her body as he straightened his posture. you couldn’t exactly hear what was being discussed over the conversation buzz swallowing the sound scape. you did, however, hear margaret/margaux laugh, so trained, so light and airy and feminine and infuriating. you didn’t grow up in a country house or paint your nails, the different appropriate kinds of laughters were never discerned in your taught etiquette.

nothing about you was light or airy or feminine and here billy was, flirting with those very things personified like you didn’t have him pleading with you to stop cumming less than 24 hours ago. you were probably steaming at the ears at this point.

abandoning the dull conversation surrounding the upcoming horse races with a friendly barkeep, you put one cowgirl boot in front of the other as you blaze over to billy. “come on, we’re leaving.” you say jaggedly, hardly sparing margaret/margaux a single glance.

“is this your friend?” she asks with a tone so sweet and pitchy it almost makes your eye twitch.

“yes.”

“no.”

the woman looked simply confused at your contrasting answers and quite politely excused herself as your eyes yielded a dangerous hail down onto him. he sighed, taking his time as he finished his drink—rising from his barstool, paying the barkeep, grabbing his hat and jacket—and finally walking out of the saloon with you.

as soon as the door shut to billy’s current homestead you shared, you stomped in silence to the bedroom. “where you going, baby?” he called out, not wincing, and pushing past the nearly slammed door after you. he enters to see you pacing, practically fuming.

“what’s wrong, darlin’?” he approached you and uncrossed your arms, looking down at you as if you were wounded. you hated these stares of him because it was so hearty and intense and all about you.

“you were practically sticking your dick in her! that lady, the one who obviously wanted you to take her out back,” you spit out all at once. your language was often crude, but it never made billy wince the way it made other men react. billy just smiled as though he pitied you, kissing the top of your head. you forced your arms to sides as he wrapped his around you. “you jealous?” he laughed after pulling you away from his chest and looking back down at you again.

you rolled your eyes, scoffing and tearing yourself out of his hold, walking away from him. your arms crossed in front of your chest. “i am not jealous, i am simply… perplexed.”

this seemed to amuse him. “uh huh. well, you don’t got anythin’ to worry about, baby. dontch’ya know i’m crazy about you?” his drawl drew you towards him again. his eyes were glimmering with honesty, soothing your jealousy slightly.

“you sure?” you said with a slight pout as billy pulls you in once more.

“need me to prove it to you?” the ask wasn’t posed so much as a question as a request as he sunk down slowly onto his knees in front of you. you laughed, nodding eagerly as you helped him unbutton your denim.

#.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ 𝐤𝐚𝐢𝐚 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 !#angelnon 🤍#kai's got mail <3📑#kaia writes william #william h bonney fluff #william h bonney smut #william h bonney x reader #william h bonney #billy antrim #billy antrim x reader #billy antrim smut #billy bonney x reader #billy the kid 2022 #billy the kid smut #billy the kid fluff #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid #tom blyth smut #tom blyth

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kisses4kaia · 3 days

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YEAHHHHH

NO BC I NEED TO HAVE A SLEEPOVER WOTH PERVY SARAH AND WE PLAY FIGHT BUT UTS JUST HER EXCUSE TO TOUCH ME ALL OVER AND GET ON TOP OF ME. (we need dom!sarah)

you try to straddle her in an ill-timed attempt to grab a pillow out of her hands, but your hips slip a fraction and suddenly you’re grabbing a handful of tits and letting out an accidental moan as your clit rubs onto her midriff.

“fuck— fuck, i’m sorry, didn’t mean to.. didn’t mean to make it weird, shit,” you huff, pushing your body off of her as quickly as you could manage.

she grabs your hips before you squander off, rooting them in place and almost unnoticeably bucking her own into you, “mhm, you can stay you know? didn’t do anything wrong.”

indenting your teeth into an already bitten raw lip, you eye her in suspect before letting your body fall lax upon her own, to which she takes you by surprise and flips the two of you over.

you both giggle at the impact, staring at each other until she breaks the silence “ever kissed a girl?” she questions, leaning down to huff out warm pants onto your face.

you shake your head no, secluded in a curtain of her hair that coveted both of you during this clandestine conversation.

“good thing i’m here then hm,” she whispers.

she grabs your face before you can question the statement, pressing her own soft lips into yours and pushing her body further into your own, chest beating fast and hard as your stomach grows tighter in arousal from the overstimulation of her.

when she finally pulls off both of you are panting— her red in the face but slightly more enthusiastic in her eyes, “not bad for your first time,” she laughs out.

#*ੈ✩‧₊˚ kaia adores !#i like it #amazing #😢need

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kisses4kaia · 5 days

Text

felt this SO aggressively

drinking water when i feel like my world is falling apart because i care too much about my friends and family to **** ******

#⋆˙⟡ kaia talks !! ⋆˙⟡#in all seriousness #I love you and youre writing dally #plz don’t die

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kisses4kaia · 5 days

Text

yeah this is perfect

── RELINQUISHED CONTROL w/ SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY

simon riley x fem!reader

cw: subby simon, sleepy/tired simon, p in v, spit as lube, use of ‘good boy’ x1, brief nipple play, orgasm delay/control

NSFT ✩ MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY)

MASTERLIST

you could practically taste the exhaustion radiating off of simon. his shoulders sagged and as he slipped his balaclava off you could see just how much more defined the bags and purple under his eyes were.

his body slumping against yours as he held you close, running his hands down your back, up and through your hair. pressing a lazy kiss to your mouth. his tongue prying your lips open, slow and messy before he pulled away.

you had to drag him towards the shower, his eyes closed as you guided him through your shared home. turning the water on for him and letting him strip. he soaked and cleansed himself longer than normal, but you didn’t mind. knowing he needed time to unwind.

and when he collapsed onto the mattress, you were already waiting for him. his nose nuzzling into your neck, eyes barely open as he began to suck and lick down your throat. “you aren’t sleepy?”

you words were quiet, but the way his thick fingers dug into your hips was your answer. maneuvering the two of you so you were on top of him. your thighs straddling his hips as his mouth licked down to your chest. his tongue gliding over your nipple, the gentle sucking over the fabric of your thin shirt had you preening. your hips rocking over his when he finally tugged your shirt off.

sucking lazily, whining against your skin as he bucked his hips forward. his fingers everywhere on your body, gripping and massaging and removing the layers of clothes you had on.

he wanted you to take care of him tonight. he needed it. and without him saying it, you knew it too.

your fingers slipped into the waistband of his briefs, feeling his cock begin to grow hard, circling your thumb against the tip, before pulling the fabric of his boxers off.

spitting into your palm before wrapping around the base of his cock. jerking your hand up and down a few times before he fully hardened against your hold.

your fingers pushing his head back so you could kiss and nip at his throat, “need me to take care of you tonight, si’?”

he nodded, eyes screwed up as your fingers continued to tug and squeeze at his hard length. you nipped gently at his jaw, gliding your thumb against his messy tip, “no, baby. need you to use your words for me.”

it was far and few in between when simon relinquished control. and despite knowing how much he needed this, your heart thrummed at being able to take it.

his voice always became so desperate and needy, your clit aching to see such a strong man’s knees buckle just for you.

his voiced wavered with desperation, eyes sleepy as he nodded up at you once more, “need you to take care of me tonight.”

your lips trailed down his neck, kissing and sucking softly as simon grew increasingly more desperate. your tongue tracing down his toned chest and abdomen. moaning softly as you got to the thin patch of hair on his lower belly.

pressing gentle kisses at the base of his thighs before biting down. wasting no time in taking his cock into your mouth. sucking and lapping at the tip as he cried out. your eyes locked on his as his fingers gripped at the sheets.

simon’s fingers were desperate to thread through your hair but he refrained. you knew what he needed, and he was going to let you give it to him. swallowing around his thick cock as the tip knocked against the back of your throat. he was so close.

his cock aching and angry, eyes rolled back and ready to come into your mouth before you pulled away. a choked noise left his mouth as he looked up at you in confusion.

“it’s okay, baby. don’t worry, m’gonna make you feel good.”

his mouth opened as if it protest but no words came out. leaning into your touch as you pet his hair, his lips trying to find yours as you placed kisses all along his face. “just relax, si’. you’re doing so good.”

he felt his cock throb at the praise. your warm thighs straddling him once more as you dragged your cunt along the length of his dick. your head hung forward to watch him.

his fingers held onto your waist but there was no force in his grip. letting you take control.

“you want to fuck me, baby?”

he grunted quietly, nodding, “fuck, yeah-need you.”

a soft laugh fell from your mouth, giving shallows rolls of your hips, the head of his cock knocking against your swollen clit each time. your thighs trembled with anticipation.

“who does this cock belong to, hm?”

you slowly sunk down onto him, biting back the desperate need to take him fully.

“fuck-”

your hips paused their descent, “that’s not the answer i was looking for.”

simon’s nails dug into the plush of your hips, his thighs trembling beneath yours as he tried to even out his breathing, “you, belongs to you.”

you bit back a smile, sinking down fully to lazily grinding down against him, “what belongs to me, hm?”

with gritted teeth, he babbled out, “my cock.”

“good boy.”

your hips raised and slammed down onto his, simon’s cock pulsed as you bounced against him. using him in the best way. his back arched off the bed as he let his desperation take over.

grunts and soft whines of pleasure tumbling out of his mouth. it was too good. your cunt wrapped around him like a vice. warm and wet and welcoming.

a soft, broken cry left his mouth as he tried so hard not to come so quick. each rock and sway of your hips had simon seeing stars.

the stress and ache of day slowly leaving him each time you sunk down onto his cock. “fuck, gonna come-need to come, please.”

his fingers dug into your waist as you bounced down faster. your fingers reaching between your thighs to rub at your clit.

you tightened up around him and simon’s back arched. the first spurts of his come filling you as your name fell from his mouth, followed by a string of thanks you.

your orgasm came shortly after, your thighs aching and trembling as you slumped against him. his fingers rubbing against your back as you pressed kisses to his jaw and lips.

“you did so good, si’. made me feel so good.”

he practically purred as he pulled you closer. nuzzling into your neck as your fingers tangled through his short hair. his breath evening out into a steady rhythm as he fell asleep in your arms.

#im cooked #wasn’t thinking of si i fear #was thinking about my white boy #so #*ੈ✩‧₊˚ kaia adores !#this was so delicious tho

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