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inkskinned · 7 months

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nobody ever gets the mugshot of gluttony right. these days you think it has nothing to do with bodyweight. what a good trick: that gluttony could take a shape. no, there was never any fault in finishing a meal or in taking second helpings. it was always in taking from others that there was an issue - the oil baron's fingers steepled over dead bodies and stolen lands. gluttony - twin of greed, although most think greed and envy are the siblings - gluttony is pleased with the experience of gaining, is thrilled just-by-having. greed is the one that stays hungry, that has to move forever like a shark. gluttony likes it - "a glutton for punishment" is one who is seeking the harm, who loves the rush.

gluttony is a mother using her daughter's body for a diet testing ground, sharpening the bone angles. gluttony is saying why, well not! to the seventh and eighth mansion or yacht. it is not just wanting the six white horses, it is making sure that the horses came from your stables. it is not just bathing in milk - it is bathing in milk while others are starving.

oh, it's true that some sins still blaze in their bright floral prints. wrath in a white woman yelling at a person of color for even daring to be in her neighborhood. the red, incipient rage of a neck tightened at even the thought we would take the guns away. wrath has laurels, and she is good at her job, and works hard.

but sloth wasn't ever the sleepy morning of depression, the hours spent begging a clouded body to please move goddamn it; the protestant work ethic claiming even rest is somehow demonic. it was never chronic fatigue. sloth was subtle, a grey mist. she is watching you get bullied and she is deciding it is none of her business. she crosses the picket line because - what! it's just chicken, isn't it? she is closing her eyes and turning her head when the next anti-gay legislation passes. someone else will handle it. not the tense freeze of anxiety or a lack of preparation - she knows you're hurting and would rather you stay quiet about it. she tells other people i just don't see what the big deal is.

sloth is a father that doesn't do the dishes. sloth is your boyfriend's innocent shrug you're just better at household shit. sloth isn't the missed opportunity - it is the purposeful desire to just get-someone-else-to-do-it.

greed and envy are doing body shots in the back of a private jet. they are the way they always have been, but are lovers in the age of the internet. greed just finished union busting, is rolling a bitcoin over his knuckles, is about to start another MLM. envy is in a broadbrimmed hat, showing off her instagram life, grinning about how if you want it, work for it.

okay, it's true. you have a soft spot for lust, gathering dust in a corner. so tame in comparison to the others. but how funny lust is always painted as being a woman in tight clothes. you've met actually lustful women - the ones that purposefully climb into your partner's lap, the ones that say lesbians are gross but ask bisexual women into bed with their husbands. a lustful woman is not donned in lace and garters and red: that's how men think lust looks, painting their own sins into frame. this way, the sin displaces as fog and hovers above her: a woman in a dress is lust; what the man experiences is just the natural consequence.

here is the thing: lust is doing just fine, save your pity. lust is running more circles than any of them. lust is shutting down safe sexwork sites while also making teenagers in knee-high socks sex sensations. lust is CEO of an advertising network where women never pass 25 years old. all the bras lust makes are pretty to look at but, when worn, legitimately hurt. lust has a podcast, his fur coat looped around his shoulders, sells the idea that only certain people have value, that sex raises some and destroys others. lust is tilting his head and asking what did you expect when you dress like that? lust shuns you, sneers that everything you want is disgusting and taboo - right until he can figure out how to capitalize off of it. lust has the midas ability: everything he touches becomes an object.

people usually say wrath is the scary one. you agree with FMA here, though: the real dangerous one is pride, and the shit-eating grin. the white cloaks and the nationalism and the inability to apologize. it is every partner who threw a book at your head because you don't respect him. it is every mother who said my son doesn't deserve to have his life ruined over allegations. it is the teacher that fails you because you talked back.

you worry you have this one. you feel guilty when you need help but don't ask for it. prideful. ashamed when you complete something and feel good about it. too proud for your own good. but pride is not the reward of hard work or accomplishment: pride is a twitter feed. it is the thing that has to mask i didn't do anything with look at me.

pride is your father's raised hand, his raised voice. how he was never there when you needed him, but he is still "head of house." he ruins dinner and blames it on you: you're an embarrassment to this family. this is the glass you walk around, the cuts in your feet. how he says this isn't how i raised you and you have to bite back the retort: that's because you didn't actually fucking raise me.

#i personally think having any of these desires is totally fine. it's when u use them to hurt others #it's why having ambitions =/= greed: as long as ur ambition isn't ''i hope i can take someone elses good things''#writeblr #warm up #seven deadly sins

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vivwritesfics · 15 days

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Hiii! I love your writing! I’m obsessed 😍 how about a situashionship with Lando but reader is the one a afraid of commitment, make it angstyyy?🤭 please. Only if you feel comfortable obvi. xx

this is so fucking short im sorry

"You could just stay," she said as Lando climbed out of her bed.

He pulled his shirt on over his head and looked at her on the bed. With the covers pulled up to her chest, her hair a mess and a coating of sweat on her skin.

Once he was dressed, Lando climbed back onto the bed and crawled over to her. He kissed her and pulled away. "I've... got to get up early," he said and put his hat on his head. "And so do you."

"Fine," she muttered, clearly unhappy.

Lando gave her a pout, almost looked like he was going to climb back into the bed, but then he left the room.

She hated it, kinda hated him for leaving. But what could she do? It wasn't like they were together. He didn't have to commit to the level of staying in her bed.

She wanted him to, though. She wanted him to take her out to dinner, to drive her around and wrap his arm around her waist as they walked through the streets. But that was too much to ask. He was at an age where he didn't want to settle down, where he wanted to be single.

But being single while fucking and having feeling for someone just didn't work.

#f1 #formula one #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #vivi speaks #lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris fluff #lando norris smut #lando norris x reader smut #lando norris x you #ln4 #ln4 imagine #ln4 x reader

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lackadaisycats · 1 year

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I tried to answer this succinctly, but it turned into an essay. (Sorry.)

The Princess and the Frog was not accurate, strictly speaking, but dinging it for that would be like criticizing the Lion King for not being a realistic wildlife documentary. Accuracy wasn't really the point. Given the fantastical elements and fictional nations like “Maldonia”, I suppose we're meant to understand this as a bit removed from the real New Orleans. It's more a a jazz-flavored fairy tale than a historical fiction.

But for discussion's sake....

Is it fashion-accurate to its 1926 timeframe? Ehhh, sort of. It pays homage to 20s fashion trends with cloche hats, furs and feathery headpieces, but without fully committing to it. The waistline on almost all of Tiana's clothing is too high for the 20s, and the the shapes of her fancier costumes take a lot of liberties, or deviate wildly from the style of the period.

In the 20s, dresses (including workaday stuff) tended to have a straight up-and-down shape to it - kind of a low-waisted rectangle that de-emphasized curves instead of highlighting them. There are valid reasons to play fast and loose with that, though (something I’m definitely guilty of as well). One of those reasons is communication.

For instance, speculatively, the filmmakers wrote Tiana as a hard-working waitress and wanted her to look the part, so they made the choice to clothe her in something familiar - that gingham dress of mid-century shape that we broadly associate with diner waitresses. Actual waitress uniforms of the 20s had a fair bit of overlap with maid uniforms at the time too, and I can see why they wouldn't want to risk the confusion. It's more important to communicate clearly with the larger audience than to appease a small faction of fashion nerds who'd notice or care about the precision.

I don't think it's a case of the designers failing to do their research - I'm sure they had piles of references, and maybe even consultants - but they also had to have priorities.

With her hat and coat on, she looks a lot more 1920s-shaped.

Pretty consistently, the indication of the characteristic 1920s drop waist is there, but the approach otherwise ignores the 20s silhouette. The clothes hug the body too much. This may be about appealing to a 2000s audience, visually speaking, but also could be an animation thing. Maybe both. For practical reasons, clothes in 2d animation are usually more a sort of second skin than something that wears or behaves like realistic fabric.

These are not in the 1920s ballpark at all. Tiana's blue gown looks like your basic Disney brand invention. Strapless things would have been extremely unusual and the overall shape is far out of step. Excusable, I guess, because it's a costume in context. Charlotte looks like she’s heading for a mimosa brunch in a modern maxi dress.

Charlotte's princess dress did seem to be calling back to the ultra-wide pannier side hoops of the 18th century - something that made a reappearance for part of the 20s, albeit in much milder form called robe de style. I'm not sure if the filmmakers were alluding to that at all, really, but either way, her dress is hilarious.

They only went about halfway with the cloche hats. The 1920s cloche really encapsulated the cranium, almost entirely covered bobbed hair, and obscured much of the face from certain angles, so it's easy to see why they've been somewhat reined in for the film. Still, it ends up looking more 1930s, where the hats started to recede away from the face, evolving in the direction of the pillbox.

Similarly, Tiana's hair is not very reminiscent of the bobbed, close-to-the-cranium style of the period, but I think that could legitimately be written off as characterization. She's not at all the type of person who'd fuss about going à la mode. Not everyone bobbed and finger-waved their hair.

The clothes Prince Naveen is introduced in are very 1920s collegiate in spirit - the wide-leg oxford bags, the sleeveless pullover sweater, the flat cap, and high, stiff collar. The ukulele and banjolele were pretty trendy instruments at the time too.

Definitely some Josephine Baker vibes here. Also, the look of this whole fantasy sequence was reportedly inspired by the works of Aaron Douglas, a luminary painter of the Harlem Renaissance known for his depictions of the lives of African-Americans. (The mural is in Topeka, Kansas.)

They pretty much nailed the Art Deco. It's gorgeous. Looks somewhat inspired by the interiors of some of the Ralph Walker-designed NYC architecture, plus some French Quarter balcony flair for the final manifestation of Tiana's Place. Her dress here does resemble some gauzy mid-1920s looks, too.

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Culturally speaking...

New Orleans is an unusual place. Because some of the colonial Spanish and French laws and conventions that New Orleans evolved under persisted even after its inception into the United States; because it was such a heterogeneous hub of indigenous and immigrant peoples; and because it had a considerable population of free people of color (mostly Creole), it did not function quite like the rest of the South leading up to the Civil War, nor for a while after. Its particular coalescence of cultures made it its own unique sort of culture within the country, within the region, within the state of Louisiana even. By the early 20th century, though, regardless of the not-very-binary nature of New Orleans, Jim Crow laws were enforcing a literal black-and-white distinction, and not an evenhanded one, by far. In that aspect, the city had begun to resemble the rest of the South.

The film nods at the wealth disparity, but goes on to paint a pretty rosy picture of race and class relations at the time. Still it's not unbelievable that some people were exceptions to the rules. You could probably find a few compartments of old New Orleans society that resisted segregation or certain prejudicial norms, preferring to do things their own way. That aside, the film wasn't trying to confront these topics. Not every piece of media should have to. Sometimes breaking away from miserable period piece stereotypes is refreshing. I'm not sure it could have handled that meaningfully given the running time, narrow story focus, and intended audience, anyhow. (But you could perhaps also make a case that family films habitually underestimate younger audiences in this way.)

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Raymond the firefly I guess is the film's Cajun representation. There's not much to say about it, except perhaps to note that Evangeline is a reference to the heroine of a Longfellow poem of the same name. The poem is an epic romance set during the expulsion of the Acadians from the eastern provinces of Canada and the northernmost reaches of the American colonies (now Maine) by the British in the mid-1700s. Many exiled Acadians gradually migrated south to francophone-friendly Louisiana, settling into the prairies and bayous, where 'Acadian' truncated into the pronunciation 'Cajun'. Evangeline - who is only finally reunited with her love when he’s on his deathbed - has become an emblem of the heartbreak, separation and faithful hope of that cultural history, and there are parishes, statues and other landmarks named after the her throughout Louisiana.

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Voodoo does have a very historical presence in New Orleans, having arrived both directly from West Africa and by way of the Haitian diaspora (where it would more properly be called Vodou). While I don't think Disney's treatment of it was especially sensitive or serious, it also wasn't the grotesquely off-base sort of thing that media of the past has been known to do. It was largely whittled down to a magical plot component, but it wasn't so fully repurposed that it didn't resemble Voodoo at all either - and that's mostly owing to the characters, because it does appear the writers pulled from history there.

It’s apparently widely held that Dr. Facilier is a Baron Samedi caricature - and likely that's true, in part - but I have the impression he's also influenced by Doctor John. Not the 20th century funk musician, but the antebellum “Voodoo King” of New Orleans. Doctor John (also called Bayou John, Jean La Ficelle, and other aliases) claimed to be a Senegalese prince. He became well known as a potion man and romance-focused prognosticator to people from all corners of society. Though highly celebrated and financially successful at his peak, he seems ultimately remembered as an exploitative villain.

To my recollection, the film sort of gingerly avoids referring to Facilier as a Voodoo practitioner directly (I think he's more generically called a witch doctor in the script?) but it does seem to imply his 'friends on the other side' are a consortium of loa. It's mostly abbreviated into nebulously evil-seeming special FX, glazing over any specificity or dimensionality, but it does also loop back around as a vehicle of moral justice. Loa are all very individualistic and multi-faceted, but they do have reciprocal rules for asking favors of them.

There's also the benevolent counterpart in Mama Odie's character. Her wearing ritual whites has a definite basis in Voodoo/Vodou practice, and her depiction as a fairy godmother-like figure isn't entirely out of step with how a mambo may have been perceived...in a very general sense. They were/are ceremonial leaders and community bastions who people would seek out for help, advice and spiritual guidance. More than just emanating matronly good vibes, though, some have wielded considerable political and economic power.

(Just my opinions here. I've done a lot of reading on the subject for research but I'm no authority with any special insider understanding of Voodoo, and I really shouldn't be relied upon as an arbiter of who has or hasn't done it justice in fiction.)

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In summary--

Culturally, I think the film is respectably informed but paints a superficially genteel picture. The set pieces are gorgeous, but the story mostly delivers a sort of veneer of New Orleanishness. And as for fashion, well, it’s the 1920s run through a Disney filter. It’s very pretty, but it’s only as proximally accurate as seemed practical.

I don’t know that any of that really matters so much as whether or not it achieved what it intended, though. As a charming yarn and as a tribute to New Orleans and the Jazz age, I think it’s mostly successful. It’s also really beautifully animated!

#princess and the frog #disney #1920s #new orleans #jazz #fashion #voodoo #vodou #history #animation #art deco

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nicksolemnlyswears · 6 months

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WELCOME HOME

MASTERLIST

pairing: opla!mihawk x reader

word count: 3.2k

warnings: 18+, swearing, smut, slight knife play, oral (female receiving), p in v, slight breeding kink

a/n: i got carried away with the fluff at the end. as much as i love smut i also love some domestic ass fluff which is very clear here lol.

i started this a while ago but got busy and only managed to finish it today! next up i’ve got buggy. i actually have two ideas for him. both have smut but the premise is so different lol. let’s just say one has a prominent daddy kink.

this might be very ooc! mihawk, again i’ve only watched the live action. i would like to start the anime but those 1,000 episodes are intimidating to say the least.

Working for the Marines proved to be useful for Mihawk. His bounty was canceled, and he got to travel and get up to shenanigans that would otherwise bring him trouble.

Mihawk gets to strike pirate after pirate, which benefits him greatly. It gives him the opportunity to search for the one meant to surpass him while getting paid. No one has come close to beating him yet.

After another tedious mission, Mihawk returns home. He opens the grand doors of his castle and leaves his hat and coat by the door. He silently goes deep into the castle and into his bedroom, unhooking Yoru from his back and placing it by the bed.

He removes his boots and pants while keeping his eyes on the figure sprawled on the bed. His dear wife sleeps peacefully on her stomach, her hair casting a halo on the white pillows.

He tries his hardest not to wake you, but you groggily open your eyes as he lays on the bed. He stares back at you apologetically, kissing the back of your head.

"You're back," you sigh, closing your eyes again. Your muscles relax when you see it's your husband who has returned from his latest mission.

Normally, you'd greet him much more enthusiastically. However, the sky outside is still a deep shade of blue, the stars twinkling brightly to shine some light on the otherwise dark room. And you have had a long, exhausting day that is pulling you back to sleep.

"Just got back," he responds softly. His eyes trace over your exposed figure. It's a warm summer night if the sheets crumpled by the end of the bed are any indication.

He was away longer than he expected. It's times like these that he resents his agreement with the Marines. He will resent anything that keeps you away from him. He would take you with him if your circumstances were different, but it's too dangerous.

You suddenly feel his touch on your back, but pay him no mind as sleep threatens to take you away once more. Mihawk traces your exposed skin with his small blade Kogatana. He likes seeing two of his priced possessions in his grasp.

He'd never dare cut you with it. That's reserved for his enemies. Enemies who would be scared by the mere sight of Mihawk, but you simply melt under his gaze without a worry in the world. The touch of the cold blade familiar and comforting.

"Don't you dare cut through my clothes again, Mihawk," you suddenly threaten when he glides the blade over your night dress. You might be safe from the sharpness of his blades, but your clothes never are.

"Or what?" he asks, lifting your silky nightgown with the blade. Just a bit more tension, and it will cut through the fabric. There's an unmistakable smile on his handsome face.

"Fuck around and find out," you groan, looking at him with furrowed eyebrows. Deep down, you know you're not getting any rest anytime soon. Mihawk is clearly in a particular mood.

"Is this how you receive me? With empty threats?" Mihawk teases you. He follows it with a "Tsk, I expected more from you."

"My love, it's four in the morning. My brain isn't working properly, but rest assured it'll come up with something by morning," you huff, burying your face on the pillow.

"I'm dying to find out what you come up with. In the meantime, I'll fuck around." Mihawk says with a tone that warns you he's up to no good.

In an instant, you hear the blade ripping through the material of your nightgown. The cut is clean and precise, exposing your skin to the room's humid air.

"Mihawk!" You groan, annoyed but far from surprised. Another piece of clothing ruined by Kogatana. Add it to the tally.

"Screaming my name already? I've barely touched you," Mihawk chuckles, amused at his joke. He traces his lips down your spine, pressing kisses along the curve of your back.

"Idiot…" you mumble with a small grin. You prop yourself up on your elbows, still on your stomach, looking at your husband over your shoulder.

"All yours, darling," he responds cheekily, biting down on your exposed ass cheek.

"Hey!" You giggle, wiggling under his hold. Mihawk pins you down with his body as he comes back up.

Mihawk brushes your hair over one of your shoulders to dig his head into the crook of your neck, kissing your pulse point. You smile at this, having missed his touch like the familiar scrape of his beard on your skin.

Mihawk gives you enough space to turn around in his grasp. You cup his face and say, "I missed you. A few more days and I would've gone out in search of you." Your thumbs mindlessly rub over his jaw. No matter how much he cuts through your clothes, you love him.

Your actions bring him comfort as he leans into your touch, "My apologies. Will you allow me to make it up to you?"

You pretend to think as he stares you down. His gaze is soft and loving and filled with playfulness. Playfulness that is reserved only for you. "It's the least you can do," you finally respond, touching his lips.

Mihawk closes the gap in an instant, kissing you senseless. He groans into the kiss as he deepens it, his tongue swiping your lips to gain entrance. He grabs your thigh, wrapping it around his waist to have you closer.

Your arms wrap around his back, scratching his skin with your nails as you pull yourself closer. Mihawk's hand comes up to your chest, pulling on the tattered fabric of your nightgown, successfully throwing it somewhere in the room.

"Don't forget you owe me another nightgown," you breathe as Mihawk kisses down your body.

"And a blouse, a skirt, a dress, and many the undergarments. But who is keeping track?" Mihawk says. He's settled between your thighs, placing open-mouthed kisses down your soft stomach.

You prop yourself up to watch him delve lower and lower down your body. He searches for your gaze when he reaches your mound, where he places a small kiss. "I'd much prefer you sleep naked. We can sleep skin to skin."

You smile and shake your head at him, biting your lip in anticipation. "What of the nights you're gone?" You ask, raising an eyebrow.

Mihawk's strong hands grasp your thighs, pulling them open. Maintaining eye contact, he traces his lips over the inside of your thighs, not quite kissing them. His facial hair tickles you and leaves goosebumps in its wake.

Not one to lose an argument, he responds, "More of a reason to stay naked. Makes it easier to touch yourself while you think of me," he purrs. You feel his breath where you need him most.

As you open your mouth to reply with a snarky comment, Mihawk takes his chance. His tongue licks up your slit, tasting you for the first time in weeks.

"Ohh."

Mihawk eats you out like a starved man lost at sea for months. His tongue licks and flicks over your clit repeatedly as his lips wrap around it to suck. You fall back on the bed with your fingers digging into his curls, pulling on them. It only spurs him on as his hips involuntarily thrust into the mattress. Pleasing you turns him on.

"I missed this cunt," he lewdly moans as he kisses the inside of your thigh, lightly biting the area.

"Mihawk," you whine, turning red-faced by his crude words.

He mimics your tone, saying your name. Your ankle digs into his back in response. He's far from hurt as he laughs into your thigh. Having had a taste, he slows it down, taking his time. Enjoying everything about you.

He spreads your lips apart, exposing your pink center to him. Strings of arousal cover you, giving your cunt a pretty sheen. You're easily embarrassed by Mihawk's actions, but your whines do nothing to stop him.

"Fucking beautiful," he purrs, thumb circling over your exposed clit.

Your fingers card through his curls, pulling them back to watch his lustful expression. No one has ever made you feel as desired as Mihawk has.

Soft breaths fall from you as you feel Mihawk's warm tongue gather the slick from your entrance. He gets lost in his pleasure as his fingers dig into your thighs. Obscene wet noises coming from his mouth, mixing with the staccato of your moans.

Each flick of his tongue gets you higher and higher, your tummy tensing under the weight of the pleasure. You whine as you get closer to your peak, small warnings Mihawk doesn't need as he's learned what each of your tells are. He's adamant about making you cum on his tongue.

It's a matter of time until he feels your legs squeezing his head and your hips bucking into him. Your back arching follows soon after as a loud cry escapes your lips.

Mihawk licks his lips, satisfied, as he pulls slightly away from you. The twitching of your cunt is not missed by his hawk eyes. He presses his palm against your center, easing you down from your high.

He crawls back up your body, kissing your nipples on his way up. You swat him away gently, feeling sensitive.

"My beautiful wife," he says once he's face to face. In his eyes, you're the most beautiful woman in the world. Your skin shines prettily with the afterglow of an orgasm.

"What's gotten into you?" You giggle, giving him exactly what he was looking for. Your smile.

"Can't a man miss his wife?" He asks, nudging your cheek with his nose as he sporadically leaves kisses on your face.

He did miss you, but he's also extremely pussydrunk. Going down on you does as much to him as it does to you, judging by the hard on pressing against your lower stomach.

"He can..." You smile, wrapping your arms around him to caress his back. "Just how much did you miss me?"

You feel his laugh in your ear as he catches your suggestive tone. Nonetheless, he whispers, "I missed you like the sun and moon miss each other."

"You're cheesy," you say, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him flush against you. His cock is between the two of you, a bead of pre dripping onto your skin.

"Don't tell anyone. Or else my reputation be ruined." Mihawk says, pressing his forehead against yours.

"It's our secret," you whisper in response with a kiss on his waiting lips.

Hiking your leg further up his body Mihawk lines himself up and pushes his cock into you. You gasp into the kiss as he fills you up until he bottoms out.

He always starts slow. The drag of your walls against his cock is a memory he never wishes to forget. He swears your cunt feels better each time he has the pleasure of being buried inside you.

His thrusts are slow but deep. He keeps a hand on your leg that's hiked up around his waist while he holds himself up with the other. The way you look up at him with wide, pleading eyes is his favorite sight in the whole wide world. Your soft gasps and cries are a symphony of their own, especially mixed with his own.

His slower pace only lasts so long as he gets lost in the way your cunt chokes his cock. He wants more. He needs more.

His resolve quickly disappears as he picks himself up to kneel on the bed. He easily pulls you closer as you slide down the bed with a yelp. His cock always inside of you.

Mihawk presses your legs up to your chest, grabbing a discarded pillow to place under your ass.

"Much better," he mutters as his hips buck against you tentatively.

"Yeah, 'cause you're not the one folded in half," you begin saying as he snaps his hips, which turns into a moan. The new angle brings tears to your eyes. The tip of his cock hitting that spot that makes you see stars.

"Don't deny it. You like when I manhandle you," he gruffs, picking up the pace of his thrusts. He further presses against the back of your thighs as he looks down when you both meet. His cock wet with both of your juices.

"I'm. Not." You pant between each one of his jerks. You leave it at that, closing your eyes to focus on the sparks of pleasure.

This is Mihawk's favorite position just because of the visual standpoint. He's in total control and gets to gauge your body's reactions.

Your scrunched up eyes as you concentrate on following your release. The biting of your lips to try and remain quiet, yet whimpers betray you. Your chest bouncing pulls him into another trance as he watches your skin blushing and your nipples hardening.

Your eyes squint open as you bring your hand down to your lower abdomen, where you say, "Feel you right here, Mihawk."

Mihawk mutters a curse under his breath. He places his hand on top of yours and asks, "Want me to cum right here too, darling?"

His moves become sharper and more precise as he bullies that spot inside you. "yes. yes. yes. Fill me up, my love," you cry out.

It's all becoming too much for you. You bring your arm up to bite on it and muffle your moans, but he still manages to coax out your voice. Your moans remain a secret in the night, heard only by Mihawk.

It's fucking glorious the way your cunt squeezes his cock when you reach your climax. The rhythmic pulses of your high urging him to continue pushing into you. You try to push him away to get him to go slower, your hands only managing to caress his abdomen before he pins them down.

He is in total control. He just needs a bit more from you. You can take it. You've done it before. Your legs shake both in exhaustion and rapture. His pace is steady as he feeds into that feeling that tightens his balls.

His hands turn to lace his fingers through yours. The sound of skin slapping echoed through the room. With hooded eyes, you watch your husband in all his glory. Trickles of sweat fall down his strong chest, and his curls are a mess atop his head. It all makes him look like a work of art.

Once more, the familiar sensation of pure euphoria washes over you, and it's enough to push Mihawk to reach that place as well. He stills inside you, his hands squeezing yours as he empties himself inside you, just like he promised.

With your hands on his hold, he brings them to his lips to kiss your palms. He follows the path down your arm until he buries his head on your shoulder. He lies there, almost crushing you under his weight, breathing you in. You wrap your arms around him, enjoying the closeness and rubbing your hands up and down his muscular back, rubbing the spots with the most tension from carrying Yoru around.

You talk in hushed whispers as you gain back your energy. It's a hard task, considering you were woken up in the middle of the night, and Mihawk probably hasn't slept in more than 24 hours.

Hours later, you feel the hard patter of footsteps nearing your bedroom. You sit up, preparing yourself despite Mihawk's heavy arm threatening to pull you back down into his embrace.

The door to your bedroom is slammed open with a bang barely second after you manage to slip on your robe.

"Wake up, wake up, it's morning!" Your loud, curly-haired boys scream as they run around the room with wooden swords.

"What's all this ruckus about?" Mihawk groans. Both boys freeze, noticing the other figure sitting up on the bed, "Papa!"

"There are my brats," Mihawk huffs as they let the swords clatter to the ground to climb the bed and throw themselves at him, "I missed the two of you," he says, hugging them and kissing their heads.

You stare lovingly at the scene in front of you. The twins were a result of your honeymoon with Mihawk. Fruits of your love, if you will.

The five-year-olds are the spitting image of their father. Kind reminders of him whenever Mihawk has to go out on a mission.

"Missed you too, Papa."

"I want some snuggles, too!" You exclaim, grabbing the twin closest to you and placing him on your lap to kiss and snuggle. He squirms and laughs as you tickle his belly.

The twins celebrate their dad's back as they cling and climb over him. You let them do as they please, considering it has been you who they've clung to for the past couple of weeks.

"Mama is sick," one of them blurts out to Mihawk, causing you to freeze.

"Mhm, Mama called the doctor to make her better!" The other echoes as you pull him to your lap to shush him.

Mihawk narrows his eyes at you as he listens to the twins ramble. You throw him a sheepish smile and quickly look down at your son, brushing his unruly curls to avoid his gaze.

"Well, Papa is home now. I'll take good care of Mama," Mihawk reassures them. "Why don't the two of you go to the kitchen and gather the ingredients for your favorite?'

"Really?" They ask in unison with excited smiles.

"Absolutely," Mihawk says just as excited, ushering the boys out of the room. As soon as they run out, he turns to you with a raised eyebrow, "Not that I'm a doctor, but you didn't seem sick a while ago."

"I didn't?" You ask incredulously, standing from the bed to sit on the vanity.

Mihawk follows you, knowing you're trying to avoid the conversation. He calls your name, kneeling down on the floor by your seat. "Why did you call the doctor?"

You sigh, mustering the courage to tell him the news. You face him as he settles between your legs. He grabs your hand and places a kiss on the back of it, giving you the courage to tell him.

"We're having another baby," you smile at him, squeezing his hand.

"You're happy?" Mihawk is ecstatic, to say the least, but he recognizes how hard your pregnancy with the twins had been. So, he toned it down for the moment.

"I'm happy," you nod, allowing him the joy of having another kid. It's been six years, and you're ready for another baby. Besides, the boys are growing up so fast that they aren't babies anymore.

Mihawk hugs you from his kneeling position, digging his head into your stomach, "You think we'll have a girl?"

"I have my fingers crossed. There's too much testosterone in this castle. One thing is for sure though, it's the last one," you tell him, kissing his head.

"Come on, darling. We have more space for two or three more..."

You roll your eyes at him and gently push him away, reminding him he has two hyperactive boys downstairs waiting for him.

#netflix one piece #fanfiction #opla mihawk #opla smut #opla x reader #opla mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk x reader #opla dracule mihawk #pole dracule mihawk x reader #smut #opla fanfiction #one piece fanfiction

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moonstruckme · 2 months

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Whimsical! reader with remus where they were previously doing long distance but then reader moves in with remus and sees snow for the first time? She's all :O at the snow and he's all :D at her like he's just mesmerized and thinking of how much he loves her and how cute and perfect she looks to him and how much he wants a home with her<3😩

(If you write this, can you add a bit of their ldr! Before moving in And the other boys?)

Ily! You're an actual saint<3

Thanks for requesting sweetheart! I couldn’t quite figure out how to work in the other boys without it feeling forced (at least to me) but I hope the rest is alright <3

Remus Lupin x whimsical!reader ♡ 1.1k words

It had taken a lot of coaxing to get you to go to sleep the night before. You’d been glued to the window, watching with wide, awestruck eyes as little crystals drifted down to the earth, glowing under the streetlights and crisp white against the dark sky. Remus isn’t sure if he’d ever felt so peaceful, watching you watch the snow, your cheek resting on your folded hands as the darkness outside grew deeper and the fire in the grate smoldered down to nothing. You’d spent a few minutes out in it earlier, before Remus convinced you it’d be way more fun in the morning, once the snow had a chance to pile up. Even so, you’d been reluctant to let it out of your sight.

So he can’t say he’s surprised that he’d woken up this morning to see your side of the bed already empty.

He finds you in the same place you’d been last night, perched on the edge of the couch, looking out at the pristine layer of snow that glitters in the sunlight. You’re already dressed.

“I thought you’d be outside,” he admits.

You turn around, looking even happier than usual to see him. “I wanted to wait for you,” you say. “Are you ready to go out?”

Remus’ heart swells. He presses his lips together, feeling his mouth curve anyway. “Yeah, I can be ready. You should’ve woken me, dove.”

He goes to the coat closet, pulling out his jacket and a spare for you. He grabs some too-small boots, too. Neither of you had thought about the fact that you don’t own any real winter wear until the snow came in last night, so his things will have to do for now. He finds a pair of gloves Lily forgot last spring that should fit you.

“I didn’t mind waiting,” you tell him, stepping into the boots. “It’s fun just to look at. So pretty.”

“Mhm.” Remus can think of something else that’s pretty, but it’s too early in the morning for flirting.

You keep glancing out the window while you tug on gloves, a jacket. He’s never seen you this excited. It’s so adorable Remus isn’t sure his heart can stand it. He plops a hat on your head and spots your hands trembling slightly, just enough to give you trouble with the buttons on your coat. Remus pushes them aside gently, doing the buttons himself.

When you step out into the crisp air, the first thing you do is put a boot in the snow. It sinks in nearly up to your knee. You look back at Remus, wonderstruck. Then you turn around and tip back, waving your arms this way and that to make an angel in the fresh powder. He has to help you out of it once you’re done.

He shows you how to pat the snow between your mitts to make a snowball, and you throw one right at the front of his jacket. Your laughter rings out, as crisp and clear as a silver bell. Remus makes a mental note to never let you enter into a snowball fight with James and Sirius; they go right for the face, and you’re too kind to retaliate.

When you make a snowman, you insist upon going inside to grab some of your rocks and things to make his face. He ends up with dried flowers for a smile and heterochromia.

It’s only once Remus realizes how much snow has ended up in your boots that he makes you go inside. He makes hot chocolate while you lay your clothes out in front of the fire and barrage him with questions.

“Do you ever see those little white foxes when it snows like this?”

“Arctic foxes? No, not really. I think they mostly stay in the arctic.”

“What about white owls?”

“I think I’ve seen some lighter ones before, but not completely white. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“Will we have a fire every night that it’s snowy?”

“If you want.” Remus sets your hot chocolate in front of you, the mug heaping with marshmallows. “Careful, dove, it’s hot.”

You take it and smile at him. “Thanks.” You look back out the window, blowing on it gently.

Remus grins as he watches you. Your cheeks are still pink from the cold and your eyelashes are wet, the flakes that had been caught in them melting. The air between you smells like hot chocolate, woodsmoke, and hominess. He wants to do this with you every day.

It’s impossible not to think about how much has changed since you moved in. Just a couple of weeks ago, he would’ve woken up thinking about how long it would be until he could call you. He would’ve complained about the cold over the phone and you would’ve hmm-ed sympathetically in that gentle way of yours before admitting that the cold actually sounds pretty nice to you. Remus would have been sitting right where he is now, looking out the window by himself and describing the snow to you, hearing your voice in his ear rather than watching the rise and fall of your shoulders in front of him.

Today, he got to wake up knowing that if you weren’t next to him, you were nearby. He got to see the delight on your face, button your coat for you, bury your hot chocolate in marshmallows. He gets to watch your damp lashes twitch, pretty eyes moving from the window to his face.

“What’re you thinking of?” you ask, turning in your seat to face him.

It’s still too early for flirting, but not perhaps for earnestness. “I’m just glad you’re here,” he tells you.

Your lips curve, and you take your hot chocolate in one hand, using the other to intertwine Remus’ fingers with your own. Your palm is warm from the mug.

“I’m glad, too,” you say, leaning forward to peck him on his chin.

Remus sets his mug aside to chase you down for more, grasping the side of your face as he sets his lips to yours. Fuck, you’re lovely. So lovely his chest is aching with it. Lovely inherently, and also for letting him do this, your cheek dimpling under his touch. Your lips curve against each other, a mirror image. Remus’ heart feels full to bursting.

“Do you think we can stay here today?” you ask him, index finger rubbing against his and chin bumping into his own. “We could watch a movie, and I’d like to collect some pine cones if I can.”

Remus presses another gentle kiss to your lips. “That sounds perfect.” His voice is raspy with want and tenderness, and you rub his finger again in understanding.

You push your nose into his. “I’m glad I’m here, too,” you repeat.

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mcmansionhell · 2 years

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a fine selection of bonker facades from the DC suburbs

Howdy folks! In honor of Halloween, here are some of the scariest houses currently for sale in the ever-cursed suburbs of Washington, DC. It's been awhile since I checked in on this particular hotspot, and once more, it did not disappoint.

I'll just get this one out of the way. Long-time McMansion Hell-heads are well aware of this monster estate in Potomac, MD, once allegedly owned by a particular professional athlete who will not be named, because the house should suck on its own merit. The only nice thing I can say about this house is that the designers kept the materials and colors consistent, which adds some unity to what is, in reality, five turrets in a trench coat.

Some things, the economists tell us, are too big to fail. This is not one of them. Let's move on.

Many McMansions exist to mock the concept of architectural consistency and historical continuity. This is one of them. About every single type of expanded second-story window elaboration exists here: bay window, covered balcony, juliet balcony. None of them work. The house can't decide if its 19th century eclecticism or tony DC Georgian/Federal cocktail. The random cupola merely adds insult to injury.

I don't know where realtors learned how to do photoshop, but whoever taught them should have their Adobe licenses revoked. There's a certain type of McMansion I call a "hat house" - which is exactly what it sounds like. It's a house with multiple bays or masses and each has its own special hat. This is one of the most egregious examples because all of the hats are different shapes and scales. Not even the most Disney Theme Park pink sky and fairy lighting can mitigate the controlling aesthetic influence of hät.

No compilation of Bad Facades would be complete without at least one Frankentudor™. Rich people in America really like to harken back to the days of feudalism, yet uglier, more drab, and using materials mostly derived from petrochemicals. The lighting is not helping this house, which is about as gloomy, hulking, and bloated as they come.

I have some fondness for houses that derive new, inventive forms of being ugly. The spread eagle McMansion is one of them, two oblique wings with no real core. A corner lot specimen. This one is especially weird, with the quadruple portholes, the windowless bays, the mall foyer, and the hipped roof that's not quite clipped, complete with tacked on gables. Kind of neat, sad to say.

I know most of you won't agree, but I actually believe this is the worst McMansion of the set. The absolute banality of it, the out-of-proportion everything, the compound-like demeanor, the nonsensical spacing of the mind-numbingly identical windows. The most infuriating part is that whoever designed this had some kind of order, continuity, proportion in mind and just failed utterly at it, like Sideshow Bob stepping on all those rakes. I hate it!!!!

When rich people try to make overly-inflated temples to their dumb piles of money, it's deeply satisfying when they end up looking like this house, which is just a pile of roof and wall tacked on to the worst proportioned portico imaginable. Classic McMansion Hubris. Let us all laugh.

Now we're getting into the more eldritch horror part of the list. Some houses make me wonder if I have the same set of eyeballs and conceptions of what "a house" looks like as other people. This one is playing dress up games with foam stickers. It looks like Steve's shirt from Blues Clues. It abuses the prairie muntins, which is an insult to my chosen hometown of Chicago, Illinois. Bad house.

Not enough time is devoted on this blog to bad modernism, though it would be rather generous to call this house modern. It's more like postmodernism trying to remember what modernism looked like and tripping down a flight of stairs collecting random masses and windows on the way down. Houses like this give modern architecture a bad name. It's borderline libel. Also it looks like it was made out of cardboard.

This brings us to our final, and objectively worst house:

I don't even know what to say about this freak of architecture. I don't know how it came together or why. I don't know what it wants or even pretends to do. It is a horrorshow. Gables protruding from random places, stealth roof fragments, windows too small for the walls they're embedded in, a weird cathedral-like entrance, the mosquito-infested pond, the worst example of realtor sky I've ever seen, all of it is terrible. It's haunted. Trick or Treat, but without the treat.

Anyway, that does it for this installment. If you're curious about more McModern badness, this month's Patreon bonus post will be to your liking!

Happy Halloween and Día de Los Muertos!

If you like this post and want more like it, support McMansion Hell on Patreon for as little as $1/month for access to great bonus content including extra posts and livestreams.

Not into recurring payments? Try the tip jar, because media work is especially recession-vulnerable.

#architecture #design #mcmansion #mcmansion hell #bad architecture #ugly houses #dc suburbs #90s architecture #2000s architecture #y2k #urbanism #virginia #maryland

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covetyou · 5 months

Text

baubles

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: ball fucking, ball sucking, balls, wall to wall all ball, BIV (ball in vagina), sex toys (the balldo [link to website] is real and it has haunted my dreams for 6 months - pic in this ask), there's some PIV too I guess. word count: too many and they're all balls 4.4k summary: Santa Joel fucks you with his balls. That's it.

A/N: I am NOT sorry. Not now, not ever. And, yes, I watched the instructional video on how to put it on, purely for Research Purposes. We don't talk about how long I've spent thinking about balls.

Happy Ball-idays, don't say I never got you anythin' nice.

...

Santa Joel-y, slip your ballsack right into me, oh gee.

I've been a fuckin' good girl,

Santa Joel-y, so stuff 'em up my chimney tonight.

...

It was your first Christmas in Texas and your first Christmas in a place that felt unseasonably warm for the time of year. That's what you tell yourself every night as you strip off completely before slinking into bed, at least.

Except, this night is different.

It's Christmas Eve.

And someone is in your house. You're sure of it.

A click of a button and you're on your feet, creeping to your bedroom door to listen out for the intruder. You almost didn't hear it, too preoccupied to be on the lookout for burglars on Christmas Eve.

There's a tell tale rustle, the stomp of feet. Whoever it is, they're not even trying to be quiet. You'd respect the brazenness of it all if someone hadn't broken into your damn house. You toy with calling the cops, maybe a neighbor, but you know it'll be too late by the time anyone gets here to do anything, so you make the stupid decision to head downstairs and confront the intruder alone.

Wrapping your flimsy bath robe around yourself, you grab the nearest makeshift weapon you can find (a broken umbrella you still hadn't thrown away) and click the door open, slinking out into the hallway and down the stairs.

If he hears you before you get down the stairs, he doesn't let on. But there, right in front of your Christmas tree is the unmistakable figure of a man. A big man. He's tall, and broad, and his silhouette is wrapped in something fluffy, making it look like there's a giant teddy bear standing in your living room.

You flick the light on, startling him, making him drop a heavy bag undoubtedly filled with your things onto the floor with a heavy thud.

"Oh, shit."

A single ornament rolls out of the bag and across the floor. You both stand frozen and silent, watching it move until it knocks against your bare toes. Only when it's stopped do you drag your eyes back up to look at the man who broke into your house.

Your umbrella clatters to the floor.

"What the...?"

The man before you is dressed as Santa, hat and all.

Only this man was not as old as you would expect for someone claiming to be Santa Claus. His beard is patchy, the scruff around his chin only speckled with gray. He has lines around his eyes, crinkled divots in his skin from so many years of laughter. The red coat pulled around his form is unbelted, falling open at the middle to reveal a white vest and the soft swell of his belly.

"What the fuck are you doin' in my house?" you yell.

"Shh, quit your fuckin' hollerin'."

He takes a step toward you and you back into the wall, trying to keep your distance from the very Texan man who had broken into your house dressed as Santa on Christmas Eve.

And that's when you see behind him, to the glittering lights of your Christmas tree, and the branches covered in ornaments. Ornaments that did not belong to you. You'd bought the thing on sale at the grocery store just a week ago. When you put it up and plugged it in, grateful for the existence of pre-lit trees, you settled on the fact you wouldn't decorate it this year. Even so, it was beautiful as it was, and you enjoyed the soft glow of the lights in the evenings as you wound down after work. Now, that soft glow was accompanied by the twinkling reflections of the many ornaments hanging on it.

"Did you... did you decorate my tree?"

He looks at you like you're mad, and maybe you are. Maybe you came so hard on your vibrator upstairs that you passed out, and this is all a dream. A very vivid dream where you can smell the warm oaky scent of the man in front of you and feel the heat of him as he crowds you against the wall.

"What else do you think I've been doin'?" he says, as if it should be entirely obvious that he's been here decorating your tree all along.

"I don't know, maybe stealing my shit?"

He, once again, looks at you like you're stupid and gestures to his suit, red and velvety, draped around his body. It looks good on him, and does nothing to help the thick syrupy feeling still coursing through your veins. Having a man like him break into your house felt like one of lifes great injustices, but having him break in when you were mid-jerk off was purely inhumane. Other than point to the door and tell him to get out, there was nothing you could do but gape at him and hope he didn't notice you curl your toes as he looked at you.

He takes a step closer, heavy boot falling with a thud in front of you, and shrugs. "If you don't want it, I'll take it back."

Up this close, the smell of him goes straight to your head, your body seemingly ready and rearing to go at the slightest hint of something masculine in your presence. Your tongue suddenly feels too big and clumsy so, not trusting a single word that would come out of your mouth, you shake your head. You would actually, really, very much like the decorations to stay and the man who put them there.

Texas always felt hot to you, but something about this room was now super heating. You're keenly aware of the stickiness pooling between your thighs, and even more aware of the visible sheen of sweat on your head and the warmth in your cheeks. If he looked closely, he'd even be able to see glistening on your fingers, making you look glitter coated in the twinkle of the Christmas lights. You shift, trying to mask the buzzing in your veins at his eyes as they drag down your body.

You hadn't noticed the silky tie of your robe slowly loosen as you wiggled and fidgeted. You were too warm to notice when the fabric parted, gaping over your chest and giving him a perfect view of your tits. You were too busy staring into his deep brown eyes to notice him raise his hand.

You did, however, feel the moment his finger stroked a slow trail down the swell of your breast, puckering your nipple and making a shudder run through your spine.

"You're all unwrapped, darlin'," he whispers, just as you remember to breathe again. "S'gettin' a bit warm in here, huh?"

He absentmindedly discards his hat as his finger traces down your body, flicking the light back off behind you once his hat hits the floor. You know where he, and this, is heading, and you're not keen to stop it any time soon.

When his fingers stroke across your mound, you gasp. Your vibrator had made you sensitive, but you'd never had chance to finish the job, and now here he was threatening you with a good time. He cups you, completely engulfing your pussy in his broad hand, and slides it between your legs.

By now it's no secret you're already wet, your upper thighs already sticky with it. His fingers slide through with ease, the quirk of his eyebrow visible now his hat has been thrown to the side.

"Here I was thinkin' you were on the nice list. But this little thing right here tells me you're naughty as they come, darlin'. What you been doin' to yourself all alone up there in the dark?"

You're staring at him opened mouthed as he works is thick fingers over you, dragging slick over your already sensitive clit. You'd been moments away from coming when the noise from downstairs pulled you out of it, and now here he was working you back up and quickly.

"It's my house," you stutter. "Can do what I want." And right now you want to collapse into a heap on the floor with his fingers between your legs.

"That you can. You wanna go back up there and finish yourself off?"

Logically, you know your pre-orgasm desperation is clouding your judgement, that you should take him up on his offer to leave and put a stop to this, but there's something too enticing about him. You don't want to stop.

"Or do you maybe want a hand with your... Little problem?"

"Yeah," you're nodding, eyes so heavy now you want them to snap shut, but you can't resist looking at him in the glow of your Christmas lights. Red really suits him, and you swear you can see his cheeks get rosy in the dim lighting.

"S'good. Got some little problems here myself. But, seein' as you're already halfway there, seems only fair to get me to your level before we start anythin', don't you think?"

Biting your lip, you nod, taking a step closer to him. Tentatively, you reach out a hand and caress the front of his pants. They feel velvety soft, and you have no fucking clue how he doesn't look as sweaty as you feel.

"That's right. You feel that?"

You feel something grow beneath your palm. Big, thick, and heavy. You look down in stunned silence, seeing only the odd shadows cast by the Christmas tree lights sparkling over the front of his pants.

"Get on your knees and close your eyes."

You obey, wanting very much to stay on the nice list now that you know exactly what you want for Christmas. His belt jingles as he undoes the buckle, pulling it from his waist and discarding it on top of his bag. He can't resist giving his dick a quick squeeze over the fabric of his pants at the sight of your bare chest heaving in the twinkling light, before unzipping them and letting them fall down to his ankles. The fabric is so loose he can step out of them, easily tugging his booted feet from the legs.

It doesn't go unnoticed that you spend the entire time eyes closed, listening attentively, and gently rocking your hips, discreetly humping the air in a desperate attempt to find any kind of relief.

"Tsk, got an impatient one on our hands."

The same hand he'd been stroking your pussy with wraps around his cock, slowly dragging his sticky fingers up and down his rapidly hardening length. He wishes he'd told you to strip, or left the light on so he could see you more clearly, but something about your skin under the sparkling lights and the shadows cast between your legs is making him harder more quickly than ever. When his dick twitches in his hand at your deep sigh, he finally stops staring and speaks.

"Open your eyes."

You snap them open, eager to see what he has for you, and your eyes immediately turn the size of dinner plates.

His cock gorgeous, and even in the grip of his large hand it looks big. He's long, thick with a slight upward curve and a smattering of salt and pepper hair at the base. You're fairly certain he trims it, keeping it well groomed and flush to his skin, making his cock appear even larger as it juts out infront of him.

But, despite the gloriousness of this mans cock, what you can't get over are his balls. They're heavy, and full, and getting tighter and tighter as his cock hardens under your gaze. You flick your eyes up to his face and he has a knowing smirk pulling at his lips.

"Fuck," you say as you look back down at it, at them, and let out a shaky breath.

His whole body shakes with a laugh, jingling his bells, as you take in his length. Hand never leaving his cock, his gentle strokes become firmer, and he's guiding the tip toward your face a moment later.

"What should I call you?" you ask, realizing you don't even know his name yet, just as his tip touches to your lips. Exhilarating as it was to fuck a man who had broke into your house, you still wanted to know his name, and not even to press charges - you wanted to know what to scream when you came.

"Santa works just fine."

Pulling back, you scoff, "You want me to call you Santa Claus?"

"Fuck no! Do I look like a Claus to you? S'Joel."

"Santa Joel?"

"Fuck yeah darlin', now open up."

You stick out your tongue, waiting for his cock to slide along the spit slicked muscle. He drags his tip across it, letting you lick at his head before you capture his cock in your mouth, sucking it in and flicking your tongue lightly on his frenulum. The salty sweet taste of him makes you crave more, so you draw him further into your mouth, sliding up and down his cock as he stares down at you with an open mouth.

Dragging your hands up his bare thighs, you grab the base of his cock with one, steadying him as you suck. You tickle the other across his balls, looking up at him as he pulls in a sharp breath, before grabbing them and massaging them. His balls feel entirely smooth to the touch, and you have an irresistible urge to put them in your mouth.

Dragging your lips back from his cock, you lick broadly up the length of it again and again until you're dragging your tongue across his ballsack, slowly trailing up his cock to his tip, watching him all the while. Then you kiss his balls, humming in satisfaction as you finally press your lips to the soft skin.

The sight of you on your knees, making out with his balls is sending him stupid, and all he can do is stare down at you with a look of deep concentration on his face. If he's not careful, he's going to blow his load early, coming in your hand before he even gets to fuck you.

He watches you lightly drag your teeth over his delicate ball skin. He swears he sees your eyes flicker with something deserving of the naughty list when you hear his intake of breath, but he's too preoccupied by your tongue lathing across them to take much notice. You take it in turns with them, sucking each ball into your mouth as you slowly pump his cock in your fist, before releasing and working on the other. By the time you've had enough, his cock is dripping, smearing pre-cum over your hand as you jerk him.

Licking the drippy mess off of your hand, you look up at him, savouring the taste of his cum in your mouth.

"Please tell me you want to fuck me," you say, biting down on your swollen lips. You don't know what you'll do if he says no now, you know going back upstairs to your vibrator just won't cut it, even if you now have the fantasy of kissing Santa's balls to get off to.

"You kiddin' me, darlin'? Get up here."

Relief and desperation wash through you, and you climb off your aching knees, letting your robe fall from your arms.

"Couch?" you say, keeping a firm grip on his cock as you stroke up his chest. He pulls you toward him, holding the back of your neck as he kisses you, tasting his cum and balls on your tongue. His lips are impossibly soft, just like his balls, a stark contrast to the scratch of his beard.

Moving to the couch, you bend over, wiggling your bare ass for him. He chuckles, stepping closer to you and marvelling at the lights dancing over your jiggling backside. He shucks off his own coat now, leaving him in just his vest and boots, and hones in on the peek of your pussy from between your legs.

Sliding his length up and down your slit he groans, gripping your hip in his massive hand just as he notches at your entrance.

"Well, shit, that's nice," he says, sliding his tip into you.

You're inclined to agree - it had been a long time since anyone other than yourself had fucked you, and the red hot feeling of his hard cock in you felt better than you remembered. He rocks his hips a little, drenching his cock in you bit by bit until he's fully sheathed inside your eager pussy. The solid beat of your heart throbs through your veins and straight to your core, making you clench around him as he begins to fuck you.

"You're gonna yank my dick clean off if you keep that up."

"Can't help it," you moan, "Feels so good." You let your eyes close, succumbing to the slow, steady, pleasure building in you.

Snapping his hips more firmly, he bottoms out in you over and over, pushing deep inside you with each thrust. You can feel his wet balls slap against you, rhythmically whacking into your clit, but it's not enough. You're so desperate to come you lick your fingers and reach between your legs, swiping your digits over your clit. His balls instead slap against your fingers and you can't resist trying to stroke them again.

The noises you're making are going straight to Joel's dick, and he knows he's going to blow his snowy load way before he's ready if you don't stop, so he pulls away from you. You protest as his cock slides out of you, leaving you empty and still desperate to come.

"Got a present for you, darlin'," he pants from behind you.

"The ornaments?"

"Yeah. Got some real pretty baubles for you, darlin'. You'll like 'em. I promise."

He goes to his bag, long forgotten on the floor, and bends over it. You watch his soft ass and the swing of his dick and balls as he rummages around inside the sack, pulling out two things before standing up. When he doesn't immediately turn back around, clearly playing with his own cock, you start to worry that you're not satisfying him. But then he rounds on you and you see his cock and balls glisten wetly in the twinkling Christmas lights just as he throws a bottle at you. Lube.

Catching him opening another box, you gasp and draw your hand to your chest in mock shock.

"Is that not my present to open?" you say coyly, now trickling lube over your own pussy. You don't need it, but whatever he has in mind clearly calls for it.

"Good things come to those who wait, darlin'."

"I'm still waiting for the coming part."

He shoots you a admonishing look and you raise your hands in surrender, before snaking one back down to keep rubbing at your clit. You're about to go mad if you don't come soon, your clit is so sensitive, a firm nub between your legs now, and your pussy so puffy from so much stimulation. It's a wonder you have any blood left in your brain at all.

The object in the box is revealed, and you can do nothing but gape at it as Santa Joel proudly holds it up with a hand on his hip.

It looks like a torpedo cockring hybrid, and you have no fucking clue what it is.

"Get yourself comfy, gotta strap myself in."

Laying back on your couch - for all its flaws, an armless couch certainly had its benefits - you spread your legs and watch him with curiousity. You still can't work out what it is.

"What is -"

And then he stretches the silicone underneath his balls, pushing each ball into the cage with his thumbs before letting go. Oh.

Oh. "Oh."

You sit in stunned silence. He's turned his balls into a dick or, more accurately, a dildo. With the length of it and the girth of his balls, you can only imagine what it's going to feel like.

"If you don't fuck me with that in the next two seconds I'm gonna scream."

With the contraption strapped around his balls, pulling them down and taught, crouches over you, pushing your legs back so your pussy is pointing skyward like a sloppy wet landing pad for his balls.

He dunks the tip of the dildo into your pussy. It's cold and unfamiliar, not like the velvety warmth of his dick that stands straight ahead of you, taunting you with its glistening tip. If you could fold yourself in a pretzel you would, just to suck the head of his cock back into your mouth.

He pushes down, squatting over you with bare legs, sheathing the entire dildo into you. Another push and you feel the swell of his balls as they pop past your entrance and nestle themselves inside of you.

You gasp. The feeling is wholly unfamiliar, but still you feel yourself soaking him, slicking up his balls as they sit in your pussy.

"That hurtin'?"

"No. No, it's just I- I've never had someone's balls in me before."

"A first ball fuckin' for this little pussy," he says affectionately, stroking a thumb over your lips as they wrap themselves around his balls. His cock is protruding out of you now, like you're wearing a life like strap, and you really wish you could reach to taste where his tip threatens to drip onto you. Suddenly you understand the boys back in highschool and their failed attempts to suck their own dicks.

"They feel so big inside," you moan as he begins to gently shift above you. He pops out of you once, and pushes back in, and you throw your head back onto the soft sofa woth a moan. You have never felt anything like this. "Joel, please don't stop. Please keep fucking me with your balls."

"You got it darlin'," his voice is soft, in awe of you as you take his balls and the toy deep inside you. You feel incredible, and the wet slip of your walls on his ball skin shoots straight down his dick, and for a moment he thinks he's accidentally came too early. A quick look from your face, contorting with the fullness in your pussy, down to where his dick sticks outward, tells him otherwise. Thank fuck. He knows he has to get you off quickly. You were soaking his dick not too long ago, and before that his fingers, and before that your own sheets upstairs. You were ready, and he was nothing if not a giving man.

His thumb finds your clit, slippery from lube and your own slick, and he circles it, applying a firm pressure as he moves.

"Oh my god, that's it," you plead, opening your eyes to look at where he plays with you, balls still sunk deep.

You spur him on, rocking your hips as much as you can with your legs back, fucking yourself on his balls as he strokes your clit. You feel your pussy tense, little spasms warning you of what's to come, and you hold on tight to your own legs.

"That's it darlin'. Come on my balls. Squeeze 'em."

"F-fuuuck."

The swipe of his thumb sends you over, and you come hard on his balls with your head back and eyes squeezed shut. Your legs shake and you know he can feel how you twitch and spasm around his balls, drenching them as he dunks them in you, shallowly thrusting them as you tighten and grip him hard.

He's holding your legs back for you, looking you in the eye as he bends forward over your limp body when you open your eyes. The feral look on his face tells you he hasn't come yet, and you're desperate to see when he does.

"You been so nice I'm gonna give you an extra present. You ready?"

"Please Santa Joel, I've been so good this year," you say with a soft smirk.

He soon wipes the smirk off your face when he fucks down into you harder, practically bouncing off your ass as he slots his swollen balls into your pussy. They feel so big and heavy inside you, and even strapped down and pulled tight by the toy, you feel his balls tighten and try to draw up closer to his cock as he gets closer to coming.

"Come on me. Please. Come on me," you beg, staring between his cock and his face. Pre-cum had been steadily dripping onto you, splattering your belly, but you were hungry for more.

His fingers grip around his flushed head, stroking easily over the slicked surface. Pushing his balls deep, he bounces gently, loving the feel of his sensitive ball skin inside of your soaked hole.

"Here it comes, darlin'. Oh shit."

"Yeah, come on me. Come all over me Joel."

"Shit. Fuck."

You watch his slit as it seems to wink at you before ropes of come spurt out of the tip, shooting across your chest and neck, spattering your face and even your hair with his cum.

"Yes, yes, thank you," your eyes have snapped shut. You can feel the warm trickle of cum by your eyebrow, and you're not keen to feel the sting of semen in your eye.

For a little while he looks at you, fucked out by his balls and laying boneless on your couch. With a soft pop he pulls out of you, leaving you feeling empty without his balls in you. Your legs flop down and you listen to his deep breaths.

"Nothin' like a ballgasm," he pants.

Nothing like being ballfucked, you think, but the words are heavy in your mouth and you do nothing but moan, mumbling some nonsense.

"Mm... balls. They... mm. Yeah. Good."

"Too fucked out, huh?" he laughs, before swiping the cum from near your eye. "Make a Christmas wish," and he slips the finger into your waiting mouth.

He slides his finger from your mouth and you murmur a thank you as you make your wish, sighing and letting yourself relax completely for a moment.

When you tentatively open your eyes, wary of any errant drops of cum, he's gone, disappeared as soon as he'd arrived. You didn't hear the door, the window, anything. You certainly didn't hear him get dressed.

Feeling stupid, and like maybe it was all just a dream, you rush to the window. You don't expect to see anything, the man feeling too magical to have been real. But, there he is, walking down the street bare assed, his pants slung over his shoulder and his balls still swinging strapped into the toy.

No, you don't think you'll be forgetting your first Christmas in Texas any time soon at all.

soz to my tag list for this: @jupiter-soups @wannab-urs @bean-is-reading @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @youandmeand5bucks-blog @bbyanarchist @vickywallace @kamcrazy123 @valkyreally @ashhlsstuff @a-literal-goblin @ariundercovers @iluvurfather @stevie75 @toxicanonymity @thesevi0lentdelights @sp00kymulderr

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future work

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #pedro pascal characters #coveted fics #big bawl jawl #never forget the balls #fic: dress up joel

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sabcandoit · 10 months

Text

As you wish

Spider noir x fem reader

Summary: Spider-Man Noir comes home from a late night saving the world. You cooked dinner for him and as the night progresses on you both find yourselves naked and begging for more.

Warnings: smut. and fluff! but mostly smut and pet names. No real roles are pushed but Noir is a bit more dom and the one in control. Fingering, begging, and lots and lots of flirting.

A/N: Ugh i'm a slut for this man. Also this is my first fic so !!! Please enjoy!

You were at home, cooking a dinner to share with your husband. Peter was busy at work and usually wasn't back until late. Oh, how you missed his presence during the day. Waking up with him was a treat in itself, but the rest of the day was torturous. It was definitely not easy being married to Spiderman.

You had put Dean Martin’s hits on the record player, lighting a few candles, trying to set a romantic and calming atmosphere. You and Peter had a shared love for jazz. As you continued to put the dishes on the dining table, you sighed, wiping the back of your hand on your forehead. Even through almost a year of marriage, you two still had this honeymoon phase running, never fully thinking it would stop. You smiled, thinking about how gentlemanly and chivalrous he was. You couldn't wait to see him again and wrap your arms around him and kiss his beautiful lips and…

Keys jangled at the door, and a hand turned the knob as a shadowy figure stepped in. Clad in his dark suit, Peter closed the door behind him. You turned to see his masked face looking over at you in the Kitchen.

“Peter!” You smiled, “Welcome home.” you sweetly walked up to him, snaking your hands around his waist, looking up at him.

“Ah, hello darling…” he sighed, exhausted. “I see you have dinner all ready.” you could tell he was smiling too even under his mask.

“Oh yes,” you turned around, looking at the table. As you let go of his waist and stepped back, he watched as you walked over, fixing up your hair as you untied the apron from around you. Peter took off his hat, setting it on the coat stand and pushed off his trench coat. He pulled his mask up, showing his tired face and disheveled hair., and picked off his gloves. His black, buttoned up vest over a black turtleneck now visible as he still sported his black pants and knee-length heavy duty boots, walking towards the diner table. As you placed the platter of roast and vegetables down, Peter pulled out your chair. “It looks delicious, doll” he softly said as he put his hand on your lower back.

“Thank you.” You replied, sitting down. He then moved over to his chair and sat down. As you ate dinner he sat up, smirking as he complimented the soft music playing. “So… it's a Dean Martin kind of night?” he questioned with his fork in the air. You chuckled and nodded, “You bet.”

As you and Peter finished eating, you started to stand up, grabbing your dishes as he stopped you, with his hand stretched out. “Let me do that Sweetheart.” He rolled up his sleeves before grabbing the plate in your hands as you walked over to wash more dishes. After he put the dirty plates in the soapy water you were using to clean, he wrapped his half-covered arms around your waist and rested his head on your shoulder.

“I missed you.” he softly said. You only closed your eyes and breathed in, resting your own head on his. “I did too.” you spoke. As his hands moved up your body, he stood up straight and looked down at your figure. Wearing a simple, mid length floral dress and stockings with your hair falling out of the temporary updo. “I love this dress on you…” he flirted as he hitched up the dress slightly while still caressing your body from behind.

“Oh Pete, you ought to be ashamed of yourself” you raised your head, feeling his touch getting more and more heated. “Why?” he was quick to respond, you could hear a smirk in his voice. “I should be able to appreciate my beautiful wife…” he continued. You blushed slightly, drying off your hands in a towel as you turned around, now facing him. You looked up into his eyes, him being quite taller than you. Reaching up, wrapping your arms around his neck, you smiled as his hands continued to place on your waist. You both leaned in, kissing passionately.

As you continued to kiss, sweet and simply, your linked arms fell down to his neck. The kisses started getting more intense and sultry, making you both breathe laborly. Parting for just a moment, you mumbled gently “Well, big guy.”, making Peter chuckle and lightly blush too, coming back into the kiss. He eventually made it down your neck, growing impatient. You felt his breath lowering with every kiss. As he did this, you made little noises, not being able to stay quiet. One of your arms came between you two as you started unbuttoning the top of his vest. “Peter…” you groaned. He stopped, looking at you, “Perhaps we should move?”, he looked with a playful tone. You giggled and nodded as he picked you up bridal style. When he did this, your dress only rid up more, showing your upper thighs. He took notice, his eyes traveling over your body. Then he snapped his eyes directly into yours, raising his brows as you blushed.

Neither of you had to say anything, you already knew what you were both thinking. Peter walked into your bedroom, setting you on the bed and leaning down on you, kissing feverishly. Your hands pushed up on his chest while you made out. He paused to comment, “Oh you doll… so pretty”.

Your hair completely fell out of the tie you had it in at this point as he undid a few more of his buttons. His clunky shoes were still on, frustrating him as he leaned down to untie them, mumbling apologies to you for leaving your excited bodies behind. You just chuckled as he came back up to you after successfully kicking them off. Your dress was practically useless in covering you, now halfway up your body, showing your tan stockings and panties. He smirked at the sight, uttering under his breath “Woman…”, giving you one chaste kiss before pulling your sheen stockings down. You watched him intently as he did so, rummaging your hands through his vest again, unbuttoning the rest and helping him shrug it off.

He hummed as he kissed your exposed collarbone, and you moaned lightly, rubbing your hand along his muscular back. He pulled your dress over your arms and head, panting in the kiss as he brought his large hands to fondle your covered breasts. You moaned into the kiss.

“D’you like that?” he slurred, frantically trying to continue his work. You felt the bulge in his pants rub against your panties and stomach. You boldly brought a hand down to his clothed dick, palming it, making him gasp. He stood up, keeping eye contact with a sinful look as he was still surprised from your daring hand. Quickly crossing his arms, he pulled up on his tucked in turtleneck, tossing it to the floor harshly before coming back down on you again. Your eyes followed his bare chest, hairy and robust, muscles contracting as he moved. Only in your undergarments now, he slipped a hand in your panties. “Already this wet? Wow, you must be pleased.” he mischievously commented.

You moaned more, desperately needing him. Peter then stuck one finger up your cunt, moving in and out. “Oh.. Ah!.. Peter, please!” you screamed in between heavy breaths. “Please what?” he teased. He was having fun with this, too much fun. You furrowed your eyebrows in irritation, not wanting to play around. As he continued to finger you, adding another digit in, you mumbled “Fuck me”. He partially heard you, an idea coming to his mind. “What was that?” he chuckled breathlessly. You only raised your voice slightly, uttering, “Fuck me…” He definitely heard you this time, but went along with his plan. “Say it louder, like you mean it doll.” he voiced, egging you on. After a few pants and you grasping onto his back for dear life, overstimulated by his fingers, you spoke loud and clear. “Fuck me Peter Parker.” All though he was feeling very playful and very much so liking where this was going, something clicked in him with your last remark. Maybe it was hearing his full name being spouted so desperately from your mouth. “As you wish.” He then retracted his digits from your pussy and stood up again.

You laid on the bed, exasperated yet completely aroused and ready as he unlatched his belt buckle, slipping it off and pushing his pants down. His dick, large and rock hard, was faced up in his tight, black boxers. Before pulling said clothing down, he ran his hand through his hair with a lustful look on his face. You looked him in the eyes with an innocent, adoring sort of look. When he noticed your stares, he leaned back, already high off of the foreplay. While you watched him, you unfastened your bra from behind and threw it on the floor, sporting a seductive look. “Dear God…” he muttered as he slipped off his boxers. Your eyes widened as you saw his veiny and tall member. How did his confidence never waver? He always looked at you so adoringly, as though you were the only thing that mattered. He was so vocal about it too, calling you all sorts of cute and lustful names. It no doubt turned you on each time, hanging on to his every word.

All that was left was your underwear, absolutely soaked. He leant back down again, rubbing your hips and sliding down to your panties, picking them off, dragging them down your legs as you collectively panted. You bit your lip as you watched him slide back up to your now barren privates. He kissed it slowly, as though he was praising your body, ascending to your breasts and collarbone. He sucked on one of the nipples, softly stroking and pinching the other one. “Peter!” you moaned. You could feel him smirking against your breast, clearly liking the sounds you made. “Keep making those pretty noises, Angel.”

You couldn't continue like this, you thought. Every passing second becoming more impatient. His hard on was now edging you, and the sensation making you groan. He finally parted from your chest and led his cock into your vagina, going slow and steady, so as not to hurt you. You whined his name lewdly. This drove him to move more forcefully. He whispered sweet pet names in your ear as he held on tightly to your hips. Little kisses were marked all over you in the meantime as your arms clung to his back, hastily clenching your fists. He enjoyed every minute of watching you. His lips pursed as he slid in and out of you. You both couldnt speak at this point, being too engulfed in the intensity of the moment, but he managed to spill out a quick “Fuck.” and “I love you” as he continued to pound into you. You had no need to beg him to go faster or harder, he knew just how you liked it.

“Im Close!” you moaned. He kissed and bit on your neck, making you squirm and blush. “Cum for me darling.” he commanded sweetly. With one last cry out, your cum dripped out, being blocked by his member still very much so in you. This drove him mad, and his release was soon after. White fluid, a mixture of both of yours, ran lewdly down your leg and onto the bed. You both continued moaning, still high off of the circumstances.

As the intoxicating moment wore off, you laid next to each other on the bed, hugging. He stroked your head lightly, playing with your hair and kissing your temple. “My dove,” he called. “You are amazing.” you just closed your eyes, basking in the moment, smiling. Peter mumbled, “One moment dear, let me get you something” as he rolled over and pushed off of the bed, grabbing his boxers and slipping them on. As he walked out of the room, you watched his sinewy back and cute butt. You put your hand at the side of your mouth as you teasingly spoke, “Be quick, handsome!”. He glanced back at you with a raised eyebrow and curious smirk.

He grabbed two glasses and filled them with water, returning back to the bedroom. As he came back in, he saw you throwing on one of his short sleeve button-up (it being very large on you), and your underwear as you stood. “I'm going to freshen up” you explained, walking towards the bathroom connected to your room. He followed you, handing you a glass as you smiled back and thanked him. He stretched an arm out to your waist, grazing it lightly as he spoke in a husky voice, “Such a beautiful girl.”

#across the spiderverse #into the spider verse #spiderman noir #spiderman #spidernoir #spider noir x reader #spider man noir x reader #smut #fluff #pet names #what a gentleman #i am obsessed #fanfic #tumblr

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aheathen-conceivably · 2 months

Text

Next in 1930s fashion is Zelda Darlington, who now goes by her wedded name Duplanchier. Although her looks here much more subdued than they were in the 1920s, they fit not only her current life but also her personality. We even see a retroactive return to many of muted tones she wore in her younger years. While these colors are more subdued than the bright ones she wore in New Orleans, they are also far from the somber palette of Josephine’s looks. Rather, they are calming and earthy, much in the same way Zelda views her life now.

Many of her looks are also suitable for work, although there are still hints of a more fanciful style of dress that she enjoyed in the last decade. This includes her wedding look, and even the silk party dress that she has now; however the latter is very much in line with the silhouette of this decade, representing Zelda embrace not only of their new life, but also the hyper-feminine, almost romantic looks that are now in fashion and well aligned with her personal style.

However, much of the growing rigidity of style in the 1930s as compared to the 1920s is absent in her looks, in part due to her lifestyle but also her personal fashion. We can see this perhaps most clearly in her hair, which is cut to a modern length but never really worn in the heavily styled coiffures and curls of the period. And of course her outfits are rounded out by her personal choice of pearls, now always seen in her wedding ring, and her sister Rosella’s floral pressed jewelry.

All CC linked under the cut.

Everyday 1: hair / headband / earrings / dress / apron / ring (TSR Warning) / shoes (Base Game)

Everyday 2: hair / necklace / dress / ring

Going Out: hat / hair / dress / shoes (TSR Warning)

Party: earrings / necklace / dress

Underwear: romper

Sleepwear: nightgown (TSR Warning)

Wedding: earrings / headband / lipstick / dress / shoes

Hot Weather: dress

Cold Weather 1: hair / hat, coat & gloves

Cold Weather 2: outfit

My immense thanks to the CC creators who made each of these looks possible @twentiethcenturysims @happylifesims @saurusness @candysims4 @serenity-cc @rimings @chere-indolente @batsfromwesteros @missrubybird @sentate @aharris00britney @moon-simmers @glitterberrysims @magnolianfarewell @nataliaauditore-blog @yakfarm @aladdin-the-simmer @greenllamas @birksche @needleworkreve

And of course, an extra special thank you to @vintagesimstress for making Zelda's wedding dress especially for her. Without it this lookbook wouldn't be nearly as special ♥️

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uvuyai · 6 months

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𝒀𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹𝑬 𝑴𝑨𝑳𝑬 “𝑯𝑨𝑪𝑯𝑰𝑺𝑯𝑨𝑲𝑼𝑺𝑨𝑴𝑨” ft. Afab reader

⚠︎ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ, ᴅᴇᴀᴅ ᴅᴏᴠᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴇᴀᴛ⚠︎

—𝑮𝑬𝑵𝑹𝑬 ! * Smut, nsfw, suggestive,

—𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑺 ! * Breading, Jealousy, slight cervix fucking, mating press, size difference, monster fucking???, unprotected sex, rough sex to passionate (??), dacryphilia, pinning, mdom → msub,

𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒊’𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆 !* yes yes, i know i haven't been doing the kinktober prompts but i promise(i don't keep em soo..), I'll try to have more post in by December. Most will probably be more Headcanons. And with the recent events.

You were lying on your back, the spiky grass blades prickling your back. Sweat beaded your body from head to toe. “He” was the one that did this to you, “he” ripped open your shirt revealing your chest. Placing hickies and marks here and there.

You were just walking the streets until you bumped into(or vice versa) someone and spilled your drink on to their shirt. You immediately apologized and volunteered to buy them a new shirt which they refused to. But you instead insisted. By night, you were walking down the sidewalk, the streets were barely crowded now.

You suddenly heard something in the darkness beside you. You were scared at first until you heard “him”, say equally spaced ’po's’. You looked into the darkness to see a familiar figure dressed in white. “He” had pale skin with a long white trench coat with a few rips at the bottom, being uneven. “He” had dark circles under his eyes. “He” had long black hair and a white straw hat on his head.

“He” was pretty muscular and had a large size at best.

You walked over to him and his pale skin soon flushed pink. You gave “him” a small wave and smile. “He” let out a squeaked “Po!” and grabbed your wrist, pulling you more into the darkness.

You ended up in a garden with beautiful flowers and tall hedges. It looks too much like a dream considering “he” is an urban legend that's now a follower of yours. But only appears at night which leads to you waking up late for work.

He grabbed your arm and walked you down a path with stone walls lining it. And a few feet of walking he stops. He turned to you and looked you deeply in the eye with his dead ones. You stared back at him. You wanted to avoid his gaze but it seem to hypnotize you at the slightest.

He grabbed your wrist and pulled you more into the hedges. It seemed to be getting more darker. A few lanterns was the only light source but most of them were dim. He stopped in his tracks once again and pulled you into a hug. He was touching all over you. From your thighs to your chest. He pressed your face into his chest with a low grumble erupting from it.

You felt his hard on poking your stomach which made your face feel hot.

You gulped and tried to look up at him but to no avail. Your head was still pressed into his chest. He grabbed your thighs and placed them around his waist, you tumbled backwards hitting the ground but he wrapped his arms you, mostly trying to soften the impact.

He unbuttoned his trench coat and threw it somewhere nearby. You gasped as he nearly ripped apart your blouse(which he did), he stared at your breast for a solid second be latching himself onto one of them. You let out gasps and moans. He rubbed his hard on over your soaking pussy, desperately trying to get inside you. You have done this before but it was mainly you who was overpowering him.

He tugged at your panties and looked at you, his pupils shaping themselves into hearts. You nodded and looked away. He ripped off your panties and threw them somewhere in the hedges. A string followed but got cut short since he threw them.

aligned himself with your pussy and rubbed himself against it, his moans and soft “Po” would absolutely turn you on. You couldn't say you didn't like them. He pushed himself into your heat, grunts and pants we heard. You moaned loudly and he rocked his hips back n forth into you. His cock was webbed in your juices.

Loud slapping could be heard throughout the hedges. If this place was available to other people, you could tell their faces would be full of disgust. He placed your legs more onto his shoulders, leaning forwards to reach deeper into your core. Nearly bumping into your cervix. Your eyes rolling behind your head and tongue lolling out of your mouth. He took that as a signal to kiss you. Your tongues dancing together.

Tears welded in your eyes and so were his eyes. He let go of the kiss, a string following through. Deep panting was apparent. His soft moans and little "Po.." was extremely hot considering he's a big guy and intimidating with his glares. It's rare to see him break into whimpers and moans.

His breathing came to a halt, his hips stuttering the slightest. He let out a strangled elongated "P-Po..!" As he came inside you without warning. You wouldn't get mad at him for not telling you right? You know he doesn't talk much but you'll let it slide.

Besides, it's his way of marking you on the inside just in case you don't like hickies placed onto you.

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angelbvnny · 4 months

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Rainy Day

Gn!Reader, sfw, very fluffy fluff, nicknames "baby" and "sweetheart" used, sorry if Wanderer's is kinda off i wrote it at work

Tartaglia, Wanderer, Thoma

You and your boyfriend had a wonderful date planned out for the two of you. You spent all yesterday preparing the food for your little picnic date. But as you are about to head out, a loud thunder strike shakes the house. And only a few moments later, heavy rain can be heard dropping onto your roof. What to do now?

Tartaglia

Childe puts his hands on your cheeks cupping your face. It's an act that always brings you great comfort. His hands are so warm and you can't help but to feel so safe in his hold, even when it's something as small as his hands on your cheeks. He keeps a smile on his face, but not the usual one most people see him wear, rather a real smile, a smile from Ajax. "It's okay baby, i've got an idea!" Coming from a nation of snow and ice, rain is a rare sight for Tartaglia, and although it ruined your picnic plans, it's hard for him to hide the bit of excitement within him.

He rushes you to the bedroom, dressing you in a hooded coat then putting one on himself. By the time you realize his plans he's already opening the front door pulling you outside with him before you can interject. All you can do is stand in shock for a moment from the sudden coldness and wetness, but you quickly adjust and look over to Ajax. Your boyfriend is looking up into the sky, not saying a word with a wide smile on his face. He quickly turns to you running up to you, picking you up and spinning you around. An eruption of giggles escapes you as you watch him have so much fun.

He's not the only one having fun though, you're also enjoying yourself, the picnic long forgotten as the two of you stomp and splash into puddles. As you two continue to play in the rain, your shoes fill up with water and your body begins to shiver, although you barely even notice. Tartaglia does though, and of course he has to take care of his lover, so he ushers you back inside the house. Now enveloped in warmth, he brings a towel and dries you off, then himself. You both change into dry clothes and cuddle up together on the couch, listening to the rain continue to fall. Tired from your time outside, you lean your head onto his chest closing your eyes. You think you could fall asleep when-

"Achoo!"

Uh oh.

Wanderer

Scara can't help but find the little pout on your face funny. You looked like a sad little puppy, but he only finds your dismay entertaining for a short time before getting a bit irritated himself. He doesn't like seeing you upset for very long, especially if he isn't the one causing it. As you defeatedly put back the supplies for the picnic he stays quiet, racking his brain on ways to fix this little problem.

Before you get the chance to sit down, he grabs your wrist pulling you towards the front door. "C'mon.." he sighs out, his tone sounding inconvenienced, but you both know he could never actually be upset with you. He pushes you out the door but instead of you getting soaked, he's standing right next to you as he puts his arm around your waist pulling you towards him so the two of you are protected under his hat.

"Lets take a walk." He doesn't give you much of a choice as he starts to walk, bringing you along with him. You rest your head on his shoulder, the white noise of the rain and the cloudy sky relaxes you within minutes. Maybe it's okay that you couldn't do your picnic today, because it allowed for this moment with him. "We can go in a few days." He says in a quiet voice. A smile creeps onto your face hearing him try to comfort you. "Thank you Kuni." You can hear a little "hmph" of pride come from him as you both continue walking through the rain, completely dry.

Thoma

Your shoulders drop as you look out the window, a look of utter defeat and disappointment on your face. "Aw, sweetheart." Thoma comes from behind you, snaking an arm around you while taking the picnic basket from you with his other. He places it down, allowing both arms to wrap around you as he pecks you on the cheek. "Don't be sad, there's plenty of stuff to do inside as well!" His soft voice is as comforting as ever.

He spins you around so you're facing him. He makes a face acting as if he was in deep thought, before speaking again. "How about we make a pillow fort?" You laugh a bit at his suggestion. "I can't remember the last time I made one." He starts moving you towards the bedroom. "All the more reason to make one now!" You can't deny that the offer sounds quite fun and that beaming smile on his face is hard to resist.

Once in the bedroom, Thoma starts pulling the blankets off the bed, plopping them into your arms. He looks around tapping his face. "Hmm, this definitely won't be enough." He goes to the closet retrieving even more throws and sheets you didn't even know you had. He adds to the mountain of bedding you're holding before the two of you walk back to the living room. Thoma starts moving chairs around, adjusting them to what fits his standard. You then help him place the copious amount of blankets across the chairs, creating a little den for the two of you to share.

You both add some pillows inside for comfort and one final throw to lay under. You shimmy in, adjusting to get comfortable before finally laying in each others arms. Proud of your craftsmanship, you rest in his hold, the comfortable silence falling over you. With the now quiet atmosphere, it allows you both to hear the rushing of the wind and tapping of the rain against the house. You let out a content sigh, no longer upset about your little picnic.

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megamindsecretlair · 4 months

Text

Been an (Awful) Good Girl

Pairing: Rich!Tre x Babygirl!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

*This is separate from Mr. Black but with a similar style. Can be read as a future imagine for these two.

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. This shit rated PORN. Established relationship. PWP, cursing, PIV, fingering and oral (fem receiving), edging, orgasm control, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation kink, size kink, daddy and breeding kink if you squint, roleplaying as Santa, all consensual.

Summary: Tre has taken you away to a cabin in the mountains for a romantic getaway. He roleplays as Santa so he can shimmy down your chimney.

Word Count: 4,653k

A/N: Chile, ya'll can blame this good ass edible and @planetblaque for this one! Sweet lordt. I had to take SEVERAL breaks. Don't look at me for this one. I'm not responsible for what the jazz cabbage provides. Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Masterlist if you're interested about Mr. Black!

Tagging the folks who love Mr. Black: @browngirldominion @notapradagurl7 @honeyoriginalz @blackerthings @sevikasblackgf @henneseyhoe @miyahmaraj @pinkpantheris @my1onlysenpai @darqchilddaydreamz @badassdoll @playgurlxoxo @eggnox @abeautifulmindexposed @theyscreamsannii @melaninpov @mcdesij @kholdkill @blowmymbackout @theunsweetenedtruth @monaeesstuff @cocoeffects @soft-persephone @duckiesfairy @slippinninque @prettypink-princesss @westside-rot @the-crystal-one

A heavy thud made you gasp with excitement and fear as you headed down the stairs. A man dressed as Santa bent over near the Christmas tree, inspecting the presents there and leaving a few more. You tip-toed further down the stairs until you reached the bottom landing, placing your hand on your hips.

“I hope you’re leaving a good present for me,” you said.

Santa straightened up and turned around slowly, revealing a thick ebony-skinned man. He wore Santa pants with unlaced black boots. Santa’s coat hung open revealing a wide expanse of sexy midnight skin. Rock hard abs was under a subtle layer of fat. There was a Santa hat hanging loosely on his head. He was a man.

God and it killed you every day that you got to love on this man. That he was yours to do whatever you wanted with.

“That depends. Have you been a good girl?” The deep timbre of his voice only added to how aroused you were. When he suggested this getaway to a mountain cabin, you thought that he was out of his rabbit ass mind. Black folk didn’t “do” cabins.

However, you couldn’t resist all the things he’d been teasing you with all week. Every day, he’d whisper something else naughty that he was going to do to you leading up to Christmas. He detailed everything he was going to do as if it were its own treasured present.

All week, he had been edging you, playing with the outermost edges of your clit and pussy. He’d get you so hot and bothered that you thought you’d cum from his voice alone. No matter how many times you begged and pleaded, he refused to allow you to cum. He would whisper all kinds of dirty shit.

When you got to the cabin, he stayed true to his word. Except that he’d edged you more. You were sexually frustrated and you wanted dick right now.

“I’ve been an awful good girl,” you said with a sultry grin.

Santa absently rubbed his stomach as he crooked his finger and you walked closer to him.

He had done a good job of getting the cabin ready for you both. He did all the research, ran it by you for approval, and set to work getting it set up for Christmas. The tree was understated and beautiful with copper and blue baubles. A Black angel in gold robes sat atop the tree with lights lit in her hands.

He had a fire going in the hearth now, warming the entire first floor. It was a good thing too. You were not accustomed to the freezing temperatures in the mountains. The day time wasn’t so bad. But at night? You were shivering your ass off upstairs.

Santa licked his lips as you approached, looking over your outfit for the day. You practically cackled while you were in the store, spending all his money on lingerie. Tonight, you chose a forest green teddy, with gold straps across your hips. It showed off the planes of your belly and connected in the back. It was flimsy and you felt incredibly sexy in it.

By the look in his eyes, it was very much appreciated. He grabbed your hand and made you do a spin for him. You moved your hips dramatically, like a model to show him exactly what he’s been teasing all week.

“Good girls usually stay sleep when Santa comes to visit,” he said. He pulled your hips backwards so that your ass could grind into his hard dick. You bit your lip and suppressed a shudder. You were so needy, you’d suck his dick till the morning if only he’d let you cum already. He grazed your left ear with his teeth.

“I’m too curious,” you said.

He chuckled and you felt the vibration down your back. Did this man have any clue how fucking sexy he was? He had to. He had to know that you were down bad for him.

“Too curious about your presents? That’s very naughty,” he said, drawing out the word. His teeth on your ear were sending electrical currents straight to your pussy. You ached. You needed stimulation and you were tired of waiting. He was a mean asshole but he wasn’t typically this cruel. You didn’t know which side of the bed he woke up on, but he needed to switch up real quick before you got pissed and didn’t want to play anymore.

You took a few deep breaths to calm down. You were too excited. Your teddy was already growing damp. That was just at the promise of dick.

“I’ve been good all year. Can’t I take a little peak?” You asked.

“Hmm, how ‘bout you come sit on Santa’s lap and tell him what you want. Let’s see if Santa got it right this year,” he said in your ear.

He stepped away from you and dragged a chair closer. The cabin was so quaint and adorable like all them cheesy ass Hallmark movies. The chair was antique, lovingly restored with a dark stain on it. You were nervous to defile it so crudely, but whatever. Shit wasn’t going to last forever.

He sat down and slapped your ass. You shrieked, not expecting the bite of pain. You looked over your shoulder at him and he gave you a saucy wink. He spread his legs wide enough for you to squeeze your luscious body in between. You sat on his lap, feeling his dick again. You were turned on, he was turned on, was all of this really necessary?

You knew better than to question him. Once he got an idea in his head, it took damn near a miracle to get him to switch it up.

The fabric of his clothes were plush. You settled on his lap and he pulled your hips back until you were all the way on him. He tapped your thighs to get you to hang them over his, leaving you just as spread as he was. More so, since your legs dangled outside of his.

The heat of the fireplace slammed into you, fighting with the heat from inside of you. Your breaths were growing too ragged and painful in your chest. “Nuh-uh, breathe baby girl,” he said. “I ain’t even touch you yet.”

He was right. He thought he was always right but in this instance, he really was right. You took deep breaths, looking into the real flames behind the black grate. Santa’s hands rubbed over your thighs and you gasped, jerking away from him.

He continued to rub your thighs, getting you used to his touch. If you didn’t calm down soon, you were going to burst into little tiny pieces. His hands worked inwards, getting closer to your pussy and you began to grind on his dick. You used the arm rests for support.

You couldn’t help it. You needed to move, to ride. You needed some damn friction. “Tell Santa what you wanted this year. Anything that pops into that pretty empty head,” he said in your ear.

He returned to nibbling on it. You started and stopped multiple times. The heat began to duel in earnest now, sweat gathering on your forehead and in between your breasts. “Since I’ve been so good, I want a new car,” you said.

He knew you had a really hard time asking for shit. He made good money and he liked taking care of you but every single purchase was a small battle of wills. You always lost, but he was getting sick of the guilt you felt over each purchase.

His project this year was to get you to ask for the most outrageous things so that his gifts were “small” in comparison. Last year, his project was to make you rest. He whisked you away for an entire year and refused to let you do anything but sleep and hop on his dick.

“What kind of car?” He asked. “Be specific.”

You whimpered as his pinky fingers played with the very edge of your teddy. It skimmed the sensitive skin in the crease of your legs and you gyrated again, unable to stop.

“I-I want a Range Rover Evoque, Black, 2024 model,” you said. He moved his fingers closer. If he went a bit farther, his fingers would finally rub on your clit.

You were having a hard time breathing. You were out of air as your brain turned fuzzy. Maybe it was the lack of oxygen. Maybe it was how turned on you were. You weren’t sure and didn’t care to know.

“Tell Santa why you want it,” he said.

You weren’t sure it was safe for a human body to contain so much heat. You flushed with it, as if it were a wall of pressure inside of you. You huffed. “It’s simple and unassuming. But has all wheel drive that I can take anywhere,” you said.

“Where you trynna go?” He asked.

“To our winter house in Northern France. A chateau with a huge green house I can visit and walk around all the new plants. Then it has to have a garden too. So big I could get lost in it,” you moaned.

He moved his fingers over the lace covering your clit. That tiny strip of fabric was all that separated you from his fingers. You wished the fireplace would leap out a tiny flame and burn the fabric away. You hated being teased and the bastard knew it.

“That’s my girl,” he said. He moved his right hand and slipped it under your teddy. He groaned when he burrowed his fingers in between your soaked folds.

“I don’t know. You still might end up on the naughty list. Do good girls let Santa play with their pussy?” He asked.

You nodded and shivered. Tingles shot up and down your thighs. Your toes curled around his calves. He was trying to kill you. He was actively committing murder and you were letting him. “Yes. Santa has to be taken care of too, right?” You asked.

“What if I had a Mrs. Clause?” He asked.

“Then she’d be having a very lonely Christmas considering it’s my pussy you’re playing with,” you said.

Santa chuckled and removed his fingers. “Wait! No!” You cried.

He moaned while he licked his lips. Smacked his lips. “Good girls don’t have filthy mouths, baby girl,” he said.

“Wait, I’m sorry. I’ll be good!”

“Tell me what else you want and maybe I’ll go back to playing with it,” he said.

You grunted in frustration. You were going to get his ass back for this. When he least expected it. Maybe the next time he showered, you were going to drop to your knees and suck him to the point of cumming. Then you were going to stop and make him suffer like he made you suffer all week.

The thought helped you plan your next ask. “I want a private island. With a private plane I can take whenever I want,” you said.

“A private island, huh? With on site staff?” He asked.

“Yes!” You ground into him based on that hit of gravel in his throat. He wasn’t entirely immune to what you were doing. He liked to act a big game, but he wasn’t made of steel. Although with that thing between his legs…

“What you gon’ do with this private island?” He asked.

“Walk on the beach naked,” you said with a grin. He couldn’t see you, but your words hit their mark. His hips slipped forward. He chuckled.

“Oh, we got jokes tonight,” he said.

You shuddered. “Fuck,” you panted. “I will walk around naked, get in the water naked. I might even lay on my beach and fuck myself with my fingers.” You moved your hand to do just that. Fuck him. He pushed you too far this time.

His fingers searched for your wet heat, pushing inside and you cried out. You leaned your head back, leaning on his shoulder. You were at an odd angle, your back curved a touch too far. You didn’t care. He was finally touching you.

Your pussy clenched around his fingers as he dipped three in at once. “Oh fuck! Oh fuck,” you moaned. Your right hand reached back to grip his bicep. The muscles squeezed and you held on by digging your nails in.

“I can definitely deliver on some of them things. But I think what I got you is much better. That’s if I decide you’ve been good,” he said.

You didn’t give a fuck what he said. You were grinding on his fingers while he pumped them inside you. Your arousal made you grip his fingers and he groaned at the extra pressure. “Nahh, you been too naughty. Talking back, disobeying orders, potty mouth.”

You whined. “Please, I’ll do anything,” you panted.

“Anything?” He whispered in your ear. You nodded, wiggling your hips. Fuck! His fingers weren’t enough!

“Sit on my face then,” he said.

Your hips stuttered as his words sunk in. He couldn’t be serious. “I don’t want to squish–”

“I die, I die,” he said.

You laughed despite yourself. “I’d miss you too much if you did,” you said. Fuck. You wanted his dick and he wasn’t going to make it easy. How did he know you so well?

“Okay, okay,” you agreed. Fuck it. Santa chuckled as he withdrew his fingers again. He sucked on them, groaning at your taste. The small room was filled with the scent of your arousal. The thick musk tickled your nose. You felt naughty as hell. Okay, maybe there was something to this role playing business.

You stood up and the chair scooted across the hardwood floor, grooves be damned. Before the hearth, there was a thick bearskin rug. On top of it, there were two other thick blankets with smooth downy fabric.

You knelt down while Santa joined you. He got onto his back. The Santa jacket and boots had come off. His skin flickered with the light of the flames. Shadows played across his chest. You licked your lips as you straddled his chest. He scooted down while you scooted upwards towards his mouth.

Nerves made your hands shake and thighs quake. Your pussy moved over his face and he adjusted himself beneath you. He pressed his nose into your wet core and breathed deeply.

“Fuck,” he groaned. He flicked his thumb over the thin material before yanking your teddy to the side.

“Shit’s so fucking creamy, baby girl,” he said.

You moaned while he pulled you down onto his face. You tried to use your knees to hover, but he was yanking you down anyway so that you literally sat on his face. His tongue started to move, flexing with his jaw. He was in it deep already. His thick beard rubbed your pussy and you moaned uncontrollably.

“Oh my god,” you moaned. Your hands dropped to his head. Your body started to move, riding his face. You were flooding his face with your arousal. It practically dripped out of you and onto his chin, into his beard, and into his mouth.

He moaned while he ate you out. The vibrations made his lips tingle. Pressed against your clit just so, you twitched and were shaking out your release. Your moans bounced in the cozy cabin. You screamed it all out. Such undiluted pleasure had you seeing through the roof and into the starry night sky.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned.

Santa continued to slurp up your essence. The loud sucking made your pussy flutter. “So fuckin’ creamy, shit,” he moaned. Harsh breaths escaped him and you felt slightly guilty. However, not too guilty because fuck that was amazing.

You didn’t have to worry about crushing him or wondering when he would tap out with an apology. Your head was silent for once. You were just a vessel for pleasure and at his mercy.

“Roll over,” he said.

You climbed off of him and flipped onto your back. He moved and leaned up onto his knees, scooting in between your legs and dropped his pants. He pressed his massive thighs against yours, pushing you nearly in half.

He laid down into a push-up style position. His hands were on either side of you, pushing your thighs down even more against your body. He wiggled his hips and the tip of his dick swung lazily over your pussy.

“Oh please, baby. Please, please,” you begged with an edge of panic.

Your feet dangled over his shoulders and you pushed them inward, wrapped around his head. He finally lined up perfectly, and began to sink in slowly.

Your mouth dropped open and your eyes rolled into the back of your head. “Fuck, me!” You moaned.

“Fuuuuuuuck,” he moaned tiredly.

He ought to be fucking tired from all that teasing he did! You bit your lip to keep from cursing him till kingdom come. He knew how long and thick he was. He knew he needed to get you sopping wet before even attempting this shit. But a week? A week of fucking teasing?

Your tight hole squeezed his dick and he moaned, stopping about halfway in. “Breathe for me, baby girl. Breathe and let me into that sexy pussy,” he coaxed with a deep rumble in his chest.

You took deep breaths and willed your body to relax. You were just so excited, you didn’t know how you were still conscious. You relaxed enough for him to keep sliding in deeper. You jerked and moaned as he kissed your cervix. You grunted and groaned, a delicious burn working its way around the edges of your pussy.

Fully seated, he stopped and let you adjust around him. He didn’t wait long to pull out and then slide back in, rougher. Your thighs slapped together like a thunderclap. You panted and your legs shook over his shoulders.

Your hands flew to your knees to keep them closed around him. Otherwise, your legs would drop open and he’d split you in half. On second thought…

You let your knees fall open, opening you wider. Santa grinned, looking between your bodies at where you joined. His jaw worked, gathering spit, and spat on your pussy. An inhuman glint entered his eye as he fucked it into you.

Your moans continued to get louder as he slammed roughly into you. That long dick speared you from the inside out. But he was immediately hitting your G-spot. Your moans turned feral and animalistic as you felt indescribable pleasure.

Your thighs made loud and filthy smacks the harder he clapped your pussy. You gushed on his dick and the sticky suction noise joined the symphony of filth.

“I’m-I’m-I,” you couldn’t speak.

“That’s okay. You let me worry about that. Don’t you want me to feel it?”

You nodded and blinked into his eyes. He looked down at you. “Aww, look at you letting me hit this fuckin’ raw. You been such a filthy slut this year,” he said.

“Shit,” you moaned.

“You hear how hard I’m beating this shit?” He asked.

You could only nod. He licked his lips as he looked at your bouncing breasts, barely held in check by the teddy. “Pussy talkin’ hella loud.”

“Oh my god,” you breathed. You were shaking badly now, twisting and writhing beneath him.

“Mhm, keep talkin’. Keep talkin’ to me.”

You finally let go, the orgasm wrapping a giant hand around you and squeezed the very breath from your lungs. Your mouth worked, but all you let out was a strangled, incoherent moan.

“There it is. Ou, feelin’ so fuckin’ good. You such a filthy little slut, ain’t you? Gettin’ dick from Santa this year. Let me hear that pussy screamin’ for me,” he said.

Your chest continuously caved in as you screamed with pleasure. Screamed to the heavens above that you were getting phenomenal dick that constantly emptied your head of all thoughts. You operated on pure feeling now. The deep, long strong of his dick. The slap of his thighs on yours. His groans and grunts as he watched himself disappear inside of you.

You shook violently on your way down. You pouted a bit. He didn’t cum. You stuck your bottom lip out and he grinned. He leaned down into the pushup, pressing his lips to yours. He dominated your kiss, running his tongue in a circle around your lips. Then he dived his tongue inside. You still faintly smelled yourself on his breath.

“You think I’m done with you?” His lips hovered above yours and you whined, wanting to continue kissing him. He lowered but before your lips fully connected, he leaned back. You chased his mouth but he leaned too far away.

You turned puppy dog eyes towards him and stuck out your bottom lip again. He chuckled. He bit your bottom lip and pulled. His hips still worked roughly against you, fucking into you with reckless abandon.

“You’ve been a naughty girl this year,” he began to kiss down your body. He licked certain parts of your skin, before zeroing in your nipple through your teddy. You hissed and jerked, moving away from it. He held on, getting the fabric wet with his spit.

“Not even this sweet pussy of yours can make me put you on the nice list,” he said.

“Shit,” you moaned. You threw your head back as another orgasm tugged on your core. He leaned up and licked this thumb, pressing it against your clit. You growled as your pleasure seemed to ramp higher and go further. You clutched onto his forearms, too weak to say or do anything.

Your eyes crossed while his thumb furiously worked your clit. “Get that pussy talkin’ again. I ain’t hear her the first time.”

He slipped out of you while you were still shaking from the last orgasm. “Ohhh.” your lips moaned, a desperate echo making your voice warble. Your body twitched beneath him. He just watched as you squirmed. 1

“How many orgasms does it take to get me to bust?” He asked.

His dirty words were activating a different switch in your mind. You became competitive and pathetic as you gyrated, trying to shove his dick back inside. You wanted his cum and you hated that he turned you into an animal, too fucked out to care about how you looked or what you showed him in your eyes.

He scooted back and roughly turned you over onto your knees. You flopped around, your arms too weak to help yourself. “Get up on them fuckin’ knees.”

You whined and whimpered as you slowly got into position. He pushed your thighs further apart with his knees and entered you in one deep thrust.

“Fuck! Baby! Too much!” You pushed your hand back against his broad chest. He slapped your hand away.

“Nuh-uh, move that hand,” he said.

“Too much, Daddy!” You screamed. His strokes were hitting the deepest part of you and you were screaming the national anthem for all you knew.

“Oh! I’m Daddy now?” He asked.

“Daddy, please!” You whined. You slammed your ass on his dick with his help. His hand smacked your ass with such force that you fell back from the recoil.

“Fuck! Look at that shit go,” he grunted. Your hand pushed against his body again.

“Move that fuckin’ hand, now!”

Your wails were grating on your own nerves. You moved your arm. “You know what I wanna hear if you want me to stop,” he said.

No, you didn’t want to use that word. The minute you did, he would stop and want to check in with you. You didn’t want words now. You didn’t want to reason and explain yourself. You just wanted to blow your hip out.

You gripped the sheets beneath you and held on. “Yeah, that’s right. Good girls listen to Santa,” he said.

You gripped his dick and rode him like your life depended on it. He landed a few more smacks to your ass. “Watching this ass shake, hmm, I’m ready to bust. You think this one gon’ be it?”

You drooled onto the bed as your orgasm crested once more, putting pressure on your lower belly, and gripping him tighter. You bit the blanket beneath you as you groaned. Your eyes rolled and eyelids fluttered.

“Hmm, don’t she talk so pretty,” he moaned.

He grunted as he finally spilled inside of you. Fuck, there was so much of it. You worried briefly if you wouldn’t get fucking pregnant off of this. You were meticulous about your birth control and you weren’t ovulating.

But you could believe it if you ended up pregnant off of this dick tonight. If he had some type of magic dick that got you pregnant with a single thought. He fucked his cum into you, plugging you full of it.

“Goddamn it, baby girl,” he grunted. His leg shook as the final pulse pushed into you deeper.

He retreated slowly. His cum immediately pushed out in a thick, creamy wad. You groaned as it slid down your pussy and dripped beneath you. You wouldn’t be able to look at bear rugs the same.

“Shit,” he panted. He spread your ass cheeks so that he could watch himself leak out of you.

“Might fuck around and give you some kids, baby girl. Would you like that? You want my baby?” He asked.

He rubbed your ass as he continued to watch his cum leak from your body. You probably looked like a stuffed donut.

“Nahh, not yet. I’m not done spoiling you,” he said.

You sniveled as tears ran down your cheeks. You were so full of love for this man. How he always took care of you and pampered you. You didn’t have to lift a finger when he was around. It was so intoxicating. You feared that one day you truly would let him spoil you and not give two shits.

He wiped your tears away and brought it to his lips. He moaned when he sucked your tears off. “Fuck, baby girl. You wanted some more dick, this is how you ask,” he said.

He entered you again and you cried out. You fell face forward onto the blanket, your face facing the hearth. Heat waves warmed your face instantly. The light cast long rays in your vision as it swam with tears and bliss.

Your fingers were too weak to properly hold onto the blanket. Your cheek rubbed against the damp spot from your spit.

“She got somethin’ more to say, huh?” Santa asked.

You nodded and moaned as your wails reached a new crescendo. You gripped his dick again, sucking him deep into your body.

Santa moved his left hand to palm your scalp. He flexed his fingers and pulled your hair back. His right hand smacked your ass once and then he was pushing it into your anus. “Oh shit!” You moaned.

“I’m gonna have to bring you more of these from the North Pole, baby girl,” he said.

“I bought two of every color,” you said.

His hips snapped forward as he unloaded again inside of you. Hot splashes of his cum pushed against your G-spot and you cried out, sinking onto his dick with a powerful, gut-wrenching, mind-blowing orgasm that twisted you like a pretzel and folded you like a bagel.

He lazily continued to fuck into you as he groaned and spent every ounce left in his balls. He leaned forward and bit your shoulder.

“Damn, baby, thank you,” he whispered and kissed behind your ear. You were too fucked out to respond. You just softly moaned.

He dropped a kiss to your cheek and you felt him smile against it.

“Wait till you see what I do to you on New Year’s.”

If you liked this, then you simply must know about Mr. Black! Masterlist

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