#no hard feelings i just need to make a concentrated effort to keep things tight here

[austerulous]

Good morning gang! I’m still sick, and still isolating with the kids. My plan for today is to carry on with the web weavings and visit inboxes like a li’l positivity fairy. I’m also going to clean out my followers again. Might purge the dustiest asks from my inbox too.

#going hard on the clean-up because it's impossible for me to manage #i genuinely want to be able to plot chat write with all of my mutuals #i'm not here for silent followers nor to be a silent follower #i know as often as not i'm the reason plotting stalls #i just can't keep up #on the other side of the screen i'm a mother with no family support ( outside of my mil who is my CHAMPION ) #i work two days i carry the mental load 99% of housework falls to me i project manage the renovations i organise our social calendar #no hard feelings i just need to make a concentrated effort to keep things tight here #if i had all the time in the world i'd be the one to reach out first and drive things forward #i'll take my recent interaction call into consideration but it won't be the only factor #happy tuesday ♡ #i hope the day is kind to you #◈ — ooc; puffin speaks

[prettyboykatsuki]

cw ;; afab reader, 18+

for what it's worth, i don't think megumi cares to dominate you. nor do i think he really cares to submit to you, in equal measure.

for megumi, the whole idea of sex is kind of funky. he wants it in that he has a libido, and he likes your face enough to think about it. and he feels it, desire, but the actual working parts of a sexual encounter don't interest him all that much. what sex is comprised of, he leaves up to your creativity.

he can be whatever you want. he's been like that for a long time, no doubt in large part to his flippant guardian who does what he feels like on a whim. for how otherwise intelligent and concise megumi is, he's strangely adaptable. he isn't as stubborn as he maybe should've been, and he has a set of beliefs that he follows but they're his own - shaped entirely by his world view.

he didn't grow up normal enough to have normal interests in sex in relationships. his whole life is one long, endless - whatever happens, happens.

you'll find early that megumi likes to do things in his own way as much as possible and learns almost completely from experience. he didn't even google anything about sex aside form he'd seen sparingly in passing. weirdly enough he knew your anatomy, but he didn't hesitate to ask you things. your first time went smooth if only for his communication

is this okay? ill slow down. im sensitive here. you feel good.

not that he's not bashful, he is. but he's cocky in equal measure. he's as balanced as you can find a person to be and he does whatever you need.

that's the thing really. megumi values getting things finished in the way he finds best. his solutions, his ideas - he likes using his methods.

to megumi fucking you is simply another facet of his own ideology.

he's learned it through experience - patience and effort, where you feel it best. he lets your lower back rest on a pillow, and then as if he has it down to a science - he teases you.

just the head, rubs around your clit before touching it head on with his cock. he always looks at you for a minute, gives you something half-between cocky and lovesick before sinking the head of his cock into your pussy. megumi gives it to you slow at first, watches your face carefully with each inch.

his hips are angled up and he concentrates. he lets you squeeze around his cock and relishes in your moans. the little passing expressions in pleasure you make so surreptitiously. sometimes when he feels like enough of a lover, a whole one - he says you're so pretty with his lower lip tucked carefully between his teeth. groans when you shiver, when your pussy trembles and gets wet all for him.

he likes to think uselessly about staying there forever. he knows he can't but maybe he deserves to. he thinks he deserves to keep himself tight inside of you for the rest of his life, when he bottoms out and you squeeze. squeeze and squeeze and squeeze and whisper his name like a secret. fuck, megumi, fuck.

megumi knows how to make you cum. he taught himself all the right ways. he puts a hand on your stomach and rubs your clit with his thumb. he looks at you, you look it. and he drags himself over the same spot inside of you - he knows, feels it everytime you're dripping wet and aching.

with the force of his own assurance, he rubs along your gspot so precisely it feels mean. it isn't, but it feels it. the pleasure and euphoria and fully body high choke you until you gasp his name. he twitches when you call for him, pulls back so he doesn't cum right away.

he stays like that. rocks you through well-paced, hard thrusts at the same angle until you sink. he loves seeing you lose it, and he's going to lose it with you. going to give in this feeling he always hears about in movies and books - he wants you to cum on his cock that he's learned to make you. his own personal values, he wants to spear you on them until you're his forever.

and megumi thinks he's crazy for thinking. it puts him out of his body to feel you, throbbing and desperate and hot. your hands on the back of his neck pulling him into a sloppy little kiss.

"gonna cum, megumi, gonna"

he grunts. watches, but doesn't wait. lets you ride out your high while swallowing the moans from your mouth. it makes him feel dizzy to feel you, your legs locked around his back.

you don't want him to leave either. that always tips him over the edge, makes him let go.

yes - that's it. megumi doesn't really care how it happens.

he just wants it to be you. and he wants, so desperately for it to be him too.

#prettyboy.thirsts #a.megumi #megumi x reader #aristotle.txt

[mxnson13]

eddie munson x fem!reader smut

this started out as one thing and then my brain said ooops

the second eddie saw you in those knees highs, tight black shorts and, most importantly, his hellfire tee he couldn’t keep his hands off of you.

you yelped as he spun you around and grabbed your thick thigh, giving it a squeeze.

“good morning to you too.” you laugh as he lifts you into the kitchen counter. he licks into your mouth tantalizingly before pulling back. you pout at his smirk.

“i told you what it does to me when you wear my shirt.” eddie’s beautiful brown eyes are dark, his smirk boarding on sinister.

“hmm,” you hum, pretending to think about it. “i guess you’ll have to remind me.”

he huffs a laugh in amusement. his hands snake up his shirt on your body, cupping your breasts. you move to take the shirt off and he stops you.

“leave it on.” he demands. his fingers tiptoe down your sides making you shiver. he pushes his hands inside your shorts, pulling them off with minimal effort.

“eddie,” you protest, your bare ass sitting on the counter. “we make food here.”

“we eat here too.” he laughed maniacally spreading your legs apart.

you open your mouth to protest again but his mouth goes straight for your clit so you just moan instead. you could sanitize later.

eddie ate pussy like he did everything else, with theatrics. he sucked, licked, hummed, and moaned into your pussy. his fingers dug into your thighs to keep you planted on the counter, you were definitely going to have bruises.

your hands tangled in his long hair, pulling to make him moan a little louder. you watched him concentrate, eyes wild, face shiny. he looked as wrecked as you felt as you came down his chin.

you pull him back up to kiss him, lips sliding messily. you can taste yourself on him and it makes your core spasm.

“do you want me to fuck you on the counter?” eddie asked, pushing his clothed hard on against your naked pussy. you groaned at the rough friction, triggering him to do it again, and again.

“yes, fuck, anywhere,” you pleaded trying to push his boxers off. “you’re the fucking worst.”

eddie laughed loudly as he stripped out his boxers. “love you too, babe.”

“love you, whatever,” you couldn’t help but giggle a little too. “please just get inside of me.”

“jesus,” he moans. “how can i say no to that?”

“you’re so wet.” he pants as he slides inside of you. “you’re so fucking perfect.”

you’re stretching around him, feeling like your molding to his cock. like you’re fucking meant to be. you blush from his praise. he’s the only one whose ever made you feel like this before.

his mouth is back on yours like he needs your air to breath. it feels like a cheesy romance novel or a pop love ballad. it was fucking perfect even with the toaster right behind you.

you can always tell when he’s close. his rhythm picks up and he can never stop rambling.

“you’re so beautiful,” he grunts, hips snapping quickly. “so fucking perfect, like a goddamned goddess.”

“eddie,” you whine, feeling your second orgasm building. “baby, please,”

“your pussy is perfect.”

“your pussy.” it slips out before you could stop yourself. your face heats up in embarrassment.

“fuck!” eddie yells, finger nails digging into your hips. “say that a-again.”

you pant for a moment, working up the breath and the courage. “it’s your pussy.”

he cums with another yell. his forehead rests against yours as you both catch your breath.

“you’re fucking perfect.” he mutters again and you laugh loudly in response.

“so you’ve said.” he pulls out and lets you down off the counter with wobbly legs. you stand in the kitchen for awhile just wrapped in each other’s embrace.

“you know,” you break the silence with a giggle. “you could always make me my own hellfire shirt.”

he chuckles, putting your hair softly. “where’s the fun in that?”

#eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader smut #mxnson13

[kaizoku-musume]

Good Boys Get Rewarded

Entry #9 in @xxsycamore’s Visions of Temptation kinktober event. Link to the fic on AO3.

Fandom: Norn9

Pairing: Nanami x Akito x Heishi

Word count: 2k

Prompts: Praise kink | Degradation

Nanami’s legs were starting to fall asleep from sitting cross-legged on the bed, so she shifted so she was laying down, leaning up with her elbow planted on the sheets so she could rest her head in her hand as she watched Heishi and Akito fucking  just inches away from her, Akito laying down on the bed and Heishi settled in between his legs. She reached out to brush Heishi’s bangs out of his face as he steadily rocked into Akito. “Your hair’s getting longer again,” she observed.

Heishi playfully huffed a breath just so his hair would move with it. “Mmhmm,” he hummed after a particularly deep thrust, half in acknowledgement of Naomi’s statement and half in reaction to Akito’s tight, wet heat. “Gonna need you to cut it soon,” he added.

“Do you guys have to do this every time?” Akito complained, petulantly knocking his heel into Heishi’s back, since retaliating against Nanamii in such a way was a surefire way for him not to come until hours later. Whenever Nanami didn’t feel like physically participating and just wanted to watch them, he always got grumbly and shy-more so than usual, at least.

Heishi laughed an apology, but Nanamii considered her next move. She still didn’t want to join in, but she always wanted to be involved in some way; she just needed to figure out the best way. She was feeling a bit indulgent, a bit playful, a bit mean. Heishi and Akito were acting too calmly, clearly thinking she was fine with making little comments, and that just wouldn’t do. It was good to keep them on their toes-good ninjas were prepared for anything, after all.

“You’re doing such a good job,” she ran a hand through Heishi’s hair, making an effort to adopt a slow, soothing tone, one that would sound more sincere than her usual inflection. It had an immediate effect on Heishi, who reflexively snapped his hips forward. Akito yelped, cursing in surprise. “Look at how well you’re fucking Akito,” Nanami praised.

Heishi whined, hips jerking erratically against Akito’s, drawing a similar noise out of him. “Nanami,” he said, distraught. Nanami was the kind of person who didn’t take any prisoners: if she wanted to utilize his praise kink against him, she was going to do so until he was begging her to stop, and then she was going to keep doing it.

“You’re so good at taking care of us,” she continued mercilessly. She remembered moments where Heishi comforted them when they were sad, him teaching them how to play the flute, learning how to cook until he was able to make them a meal all by himself. Nanami concentrated on those images as she thought hard at Heishi, letting him see things from her point of view. Heishi made a sound like he’d been gut punched. Without giving him time to recover, Nanami sat up and cupped his cheeks in her hands, turning him to face her. She leaned in and kissed his nose, “You’re our good boy.”

Heishi bit his bottom lip, rocking desperately into Akito, both their moans rising in pitch. Sensing how close he was, Nanami reached down and gripped the base of his cock when he briefly pulled out of Akito, ready to slam back in again. “No, don’t do this to me,” Heishi whined pitifully, still pushing what he could of his length into Akito’s willing body.

“But I don’t want you to come yet,” Nanami deadpanned, “and good boys don’t come before they’re allowed to, do they?” Heishi’s face screwed up in a mix of despair and arousal, but he nodded obediently, slowing his thrusts and breathing evenly to calm himself down and back away from the cliff that would send him over the edge. His thoughts leaked out unbidden, Akito and Nanami able to see him trying to focus on unsexy thoughts of them: Akito giving them one of his lectures, Nanami calmly and confidently cleaning a bad wound she got. Not the best strategy, in Nanami’s opinion, but she trusted him enough to have a handle on his orgasm that she let go of his cock.

Thus satisfied, she turned her attention toward Akito. “Oh, no no no no no,” he said in horror. He clapped his hands over his ears in defiance, “Don’t you dare!” Nanami took his wrists in her hands and pinned them to the bed, leaning over him intimidatingly. Akito put up a valiant struggle, but Nanami’s grip was strong and sure, and he was left at her mercy.

“Akitoooo,” she purred, voice low and tone smug. Nanami noticed the way a shudder wracked through him in anticipation. “All you need to do is lie there and take it like the slut you are.”

Akito flushed and whined in denial, “I’m not a slut!”

“Heishi, did he tighten up around you?” Nanami asked without looking away from Akito.

“Like he was trying to strangle my cock,” Heishi gleefully confirmed.

Nanami’s lips ticked up the tiniest bit in a smirk, “See? You’re our pretty little slut, and you know it.”

“No I don’t,” Akito protested, but it was hard for him to sound convincing when he was blushing beet red and his voice was cracking.

“You should,” Nanami ran her thumbs along the veins in his wrists, the touch along his sensitive skin making him shiver, “I tell you all the time how good you look when you’re fucked stupid the way you deserve.” Akito bit his lip around a whimper, legs clamping closed tighter around Heishi’s waist. He whined in distress and tried to break free from her grip once more, looking down the length of his body. Nanami glanced back and saw Heishi’s hand wrapped around the base of Akito’s cock, the same way Nanami’s had been around his earlier. “What a good boy you are, knowing exactly what I wanted and doing it before I could tell you,” she went back to her syrupy sweet tone on a dime.

Heishi licked his lips and grinned proudly. “I’ll make sure he doesn;t come before you say so,” he declared, clearly aiming for a reward.

Nanami was more than happy to give him one. She let go of Akito in order to lean back and kiss Heishi exactly the way he liked: slow and gentle, lips lingering on his, tongue swiping across his bottom lip in a request to slip inside that Heishi readily gave in to. “Such a loyal boyfriend,” she told him, “That’s why you’re my good boy.” She turned to Akito, who had thrown an arm over his eyes. “See, Akito?” Nanami teased, “Good boys follow orders while sluts don;t know their place.”

“Shut up,” Akito mumbled. He was so cute when he sulked like this. Both her boys were adorable when they pouted, and she loved getting them to this point, loved pushing them past it. Akito especially made it too easy for her.

“That’s okay,” Nanami said. She motioned for Heishi to move Akito’s arm for her. Heishi leaned forward until he was perpendicular above Akito, using the hand pinning Akito’s arm to the bed as leverage while he kept a grip on his cock. Nanami scratched the back of Heishi’s neck, pleased at their compromising position. “I like it when you try to pretend you don’t like being used. But if you want me to stop, then you’re going to have to tell Heishi how good of a job he’s doing fucking you.”

“What?!” Akito shouted, his whole body jerking.

“It’s what he deserves, don’t you think?” Nanami challenged, “Here he is, doing his best to give you what you need. If you can’t thank him for it, then it proves me right, doesn’t it?”

Akito glanced nervously between the two of them, everything from the tips of his ears to his chest flushed an alluring red, too shy to meet either of their eyes. He was caught between a rock and a hard place, and Nanami had all the patience in the world to wait for his decision. Heishi would happily fuck Akito for hours if it made Nanami proud, but she could also let him come and use a dildo to keep Akito on edge if he held out for too long (not that she expected that to happen). 

And Akito knew that, which-as predicted-was likely why he gave in so quickly. His eyes shut closed in shame, head tilted to the right away from both of them, he muttered, barely audible, “You’re . . . doing a good job.”

“Is that how you compliment someone?” Nanami chastised. She took a fistful of Akito’s hair and forcefully turned his head to face Heishi. “Look him in the eyes if you’re going to thank him.”

“Fuck off,” Akito warbled, tears springing to his eyes at the pressure on his scalp. He tried to rock his hips harder against Heishi’s steady thrusts, but pinned beneath the other man’s weight, he had little leverage to do so. He also tried to reach down with his free hand to stroke his cock, but Nanami took his hand in hers and held it against the sheets, just like earlier. After a minute of struggling and choking back moans and squeezing around Heishi to no avail, it was clear the fight had drained out of him: he went limp, his eyes fluttering open to stare up at Heishi, mouth open around hitching gasps.

Taking a few deep breaths to gather his courage, Akito tried again, “You’re really good.”

Well, it was a start. “And what is Heishi really good at?” Nanami prompted.

“You’re-you’re good at . . . at fucking me,” Akito groaned, body moving with Heishi’s thrusts. He sobbed when Heishi picked up the pace, “So good, fuck, it’s perfect.”

“Tell him how he makes you feel,” Nanami commanded.

“Really good,” Akito babbled, kept at the edge of an orgasm as Heishi repeatedly struck his prostate, only the grip around his cock keeping him from falling over, “Heishi, you feel so good. Fuck, you fill me up so well. Keep going, right there, oh my god, how are you so deep?”

Nanami hummed in satisfaction. Akito was right where she wanted him. “Do you guys want to come now?” she asked.

Akito nodded. Heishi answered just as she predicted: “I’ll come whenever you want me to, Nanami.”

“See, Akito?” Nanami pressed a kiss to Heishi’s cheek, “That’s what makes you nothing more than our pretty slut. You can’t be patient and wait to come until you’re told. Why should I reward that kind of behavior?”

“Please,” Akito begged, “I’ll admit it, okay? I’m your slut! Please let me come.”

Nanami cooed and cupped his cheek, dragging her thumb across his lips before hooking it in his mouth and forcing it open, thumb pressing down on his tongue. Having learned his lesson, Akito didn’t try to fight it, just obediently let her manhandle him. She leaned down and kissed him as much as she was able to, shoving her tongue in his mouth and swiping her tongue all across his teeth and tongue and palette, letting her saliva pool in her mouth and drip down into his, smearing her spit all over his lips. Akito didn’t kiss her back, simply kept his mouth open for her, swallowing whenever his mouth filled with too much moisture. When Nanami finally pulled back, Akito was a sticky, panting mess, endless moans spilling out of him.

“You’ve finally learned your lesson,” she stroked her thumb back and forth across his tongue, tempted to shove it back far enough to gag him. Nanami knew as she said it that the lesson would be forgotten next time, that they would go through this same cycle again, but she preferred it that way. “You both can come now,” she allowed, letting Akito go.

With her permission, Heishi fucked into Akito harder and faster, chasing his own high. He must have been close this whole time too, because all it took to make him come was Nanami petting his head as she called him her good boy again. Heishi curled over Akito, moaning as he came, mindlessly stroking Akito as he continued to grind into him.

Akito didn’t seem to need any touch to his cock, as the second the base was freed, his own orgasm crashed over him at the feeling of Heishi’s come flooding him. Heishi’s generosity served to draw his orgasm out, but Akito quickly shoved his hand away, twitching and shivering in oversensitivity.

Nanami watched over her boys proudly as they recovered from their ordeal. Heishi and Akito would be thanking and rebuking her respectively when they settled down, wiping away tears and cum stains on skin, and Nanami wouldn’t change a thing about it.

#My fics #Norn9 #Visions of Temptation #Kinktober #Age appropriate

[denjiholic]

cockwarming w. the jjk men!

✎ request: hi!! heard that u take nsfw contents can u write about cockwarming gojo and like any characters in jjk too tysm!!

✎ characters included: gojo + nanami + toji 

✎ warnings/tags: NSFW, cockwarming, edging, choking, riding, dom/sub, breeding kink, missionary, mating press, praise kink

✎ a/n: i actually really enjoyed the concept of cockwarming gojo, so im going to be including it in an upcoming oneshot!

↪ GOJO SATORU:

trust me when i tell you this man loves cockwarming

and honestly you love it too 

you love seeing his hair sticky with sweat and his chest heave as he tries to resist the urge to fuck up into your wet heat

did i not mention that gojo is the one being dominated?

cockwarming truly brings out the sub side of him, you didn’t know he had

but seriously, he loves you sitting on his cock

you’re not even riding him just yet, but seeing how long he can hold out for

mix that with a little bondage and choking, and he’s in heaven 

you love feeling him twitch inside you, his body desperate to start moving

eager to do something, anything, to subside his arousal

with small thrusts of his hips, he’ll give a valiant effort

you already know how stubborn he is, so don’t be surprised when he edges himself for much longer than expected

eyebrows scrunched in concentration, he really does try his hardest

just when it feels like his body can’t take anymore you start to bounce up and down on his length

as soon as you start to grind down your hips, he’s a goner

he releases his seed into you almost immediately, too caught up in the relief and pleasure to feel the embarrassment of coming too early 

though it was quick, he’s too busy panting and moaning to care

and honestly

he can’t remember the last time he came so hard

↪NANAMI KENTO:

unlike gojo, nanami likes cockwarming for the reasons any normal person would

after all, what’s not to like about being buried balls deep in your leaking pussy for a prolonged amount of time

nanami does cockwarming before and after sex, depending on his mood of the day

when it’s before, he slips himself inside of you, relishing in the way you shift your hips beneath him

you’re confused when he doesn’t start thrusting, but instead keep himself inside your warm cunt, not moving

he’ll praise you for doing such a good job taking his length, and being a patient little thing for him

he waits to see how long you can take it, before your composed facade turns to you desperately begging for him to fuck you

he follows through, sloppily thrusting in and out, until both of you reach completion

when its after, post orgasm, he stays inside you, watching the cum spill out of your entrance

it’s hot enough to make him want to go for another round, but he decides to simply enjoy the feeling of your walls around him

↪TOJI FUSHIGURO:

now this is the man who does cockwarming with the intention of seeing you squirm

he’d stay in your soft, warm, cunt all day if he could

similar to nanami, toji likes cockwarming before and after sex

he adores sitting you on his lap, watching you shift eagerly on his length, while he doesn’t move a muscle 

he won’t start fucking you until you’re on the verge of tears, the need for his cock consuming you

we all know toji has a bit of a sadistic side

he likes to see you fall apart beneath him, your body completely spent from his length shoving into you over and over again

after he cums inside your tight pussy, he keeps himself inside, holding you tight

toji is a sucker for a good mating press

he always fucks you with the intention of breeding you, making sure you know damn well your body belongs to him, and him only

✎ side note: to submit a request, click here to read the rules, and click here to be taken to my asks page (where requests are submitted). thank you for reading my angels!

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru headcanons #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento headcanons #jujutsu kaisen x you #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji headcanons

[sugxrslushy]

➪ a/n: idea kinda came out of nowhere? I can't paint my nails for shit so I always ask someone else to help me and I thought this was a cute idea. it was one of the prompts on my last event that I never got to finish so might as well knock out some characters right here with the prompt

➪ details: SFW//Kid, Perona, & Sanji x gn!reader//w.c: 1k

Eustass Kid

Kid’s own nails always seemed to be done perfectly, staying untouched and perfect even through his wreckless nature while you could barely paint a nail without turning your whole finger the same color (much less keep them from getting scraped and flaking the paint off)

You’d brought it up casually, treading lightly as you asked what nail polish he used. He grumbled out an answer, not very interested till you brought up him possibly helping you with your own conundrum. Upon his interest being drawn in you showed your own (very bad) attempt at painting your nails

“Yeah you did a shit job at painting your nails.” Almost as if that’s why I’m asking for help

He’s surprisingly easy to motivate into painting your nails, with the promise of alcohol later he pulls you aside with a bottle of nail polish to begin. He’s got two colors to pick from (red or black) so pick your poison

Kid is surprisingly efficient at it, much more than you expected as he paints your first two nails with little to no effort. He smears the paint a bit, nowhere near perfect, but better than what you would end up with. He holds your hand splayed atop his own and you can’t help but notice how much smaller yours is in comparison to his

“Yours get all scuffed because you don’t use that gel shit on top.” He swipes the last little smudge from the corner of your finger with his own, gently holding your hand closer to his face and blowing on the still wet polish to dry it, making you laugh from the ticklish feeling. You swear his cheeks turn red at the sound

Whenever Kid needs to repolish his he’ll ask if you do too, letting you spend time with him as you both fix your nails to your liking. Even when you get a hang of how to paint your own Kid turns a blind eye because “it’s easier than watching you struggle” 

He might buy a few more colors, insisting they’re just for you but you’ve seen that pretty purple he bought for you gleaming on his own nails

Perona

Perona had gone through all five stages of grief all at once when she first laid eyes on your poor attempt at painting your nails. She acted like it was the worst thing ever, leaving you smiling sheepishly as she insisted on fixing them for you so she wouldn’t have to look at them

Look, she didn’t mean to come off as rude, she was thrilled at the chance to hold your hand as she paints your nails but she doesn’t have the slightest idea of how to flirt properly

Perona has too many colors to choose from, almost intimidating when she drags you off to her room and dumps out her whole stash of polishes. Once she’d learned about Mihawk’s soft spot for her she took full advantage of it, and the evidence was laid out in front of you in plenty of shiny bottles of even shinier colors

To the ghost princess there’s no such thing as half assing things, especially when it comes to beauty. She’ll go the full ten yards and give you a complete manicure, but it tends to feel like she’d finding whatever excuse to hold your hand more as she holds yours tight to file your nails

From the start she’s made up her mind on what color she should paint your nails, and she’s hard to sway from her previous choice. Although she’s never been wrong, it always compliments you beautifully and she’ll let you pick out a design as a trade

“Stop moving.” The princess mumbles, a hollow hanging dangerously close as she paints on a detail with careful precision. Her tongue pokes out of the corner of her mouth and eyebrows are creased in complete concentration as she works, blooming into the biggest smile as she excitedly announces she’s done

She’s just as ecstatic as you are once it’s finished, proud of her own work and even more proud that you’re so excited to show everyone. She swears her heart speeds up whenever you happily tell someone that Perona was the one who did such an amazing job with your nails

Sanji

Sanji brought it up first, you had been helping him in the kitchen when he offhandedly mentioned you should be careful baking when your nail polish was chipping off so easily. You hadn't even noticed it and immediately was upset, all your hard work down the drain so fast

He offered to help as long as you were more careful about it chipping. You hadn’t expected Sanji to be the one who knew how to paint nails, but he’d learned a fair share of things other than just cooking and fighting on Kamabakka but he’d never admit that

You pick out a bottle from your collection, handing it off to Sanji who was standing idly behind you. “Pretty, you have a good eye.” He says with a smile, cupping your hand in his and running the pad of his thumb over your nails, the rest of your old nail polish had been removed

Despite nail polish and the remover being flammable, Sanji still sits with a cigarette in his mouth, chewing on the end of it while he works in concentration. He makes some playful remarks here and there during it, lightening the air and slipping in some advice about how to more efficiently paint your nails

He does everything to your liking, asking and altering as he continues on. He’s incredibly precise, his hand never shaking or faltering when he paints on a perfect line of the polish. It’s a wonder to you how he works so well, but it’s easy to explain it with his experience in the kitchen

“So tell me,” he begins and brushes away the faint speck of paint along the very edge of your nail, frowning slightly at the stain now on his own hand then brushing it off. “What about this color is you favorite, other than the fact it looks cute on you” He says with a grin, storing away the bits of info you give him for future reference 

Once finished, he kisses the backs of both your hands before heading off to continue whatever work he has to do for the day. He especially loves how cute you both look with your fingers interlaced, maybe you can even convince him into letting you paint his nails a complementary color

tag list: @cjm-cookiethief @sanjithesimp @acesmarigold @smallhybridart @kirakirakill @doublebird @chososrightpigtails @eustasssimp @foodismylife @portgaes @thegrandlinesimp @lawscorazon @nil-vinsmoke @rosiinante

#one piece #one piece headcanons #one piece x reader #one piece fic #eustass captain kid #eustass kid #kid x reader #kid x y/n #kid x you #ghost princess perona #perona x reader #perona x you #fluff #black leg sanji #sanji x reader #sanji x y/n #sanji x you

[after-witch]

A Simple Cup of Tea [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

Title: A Simple Cup of Tea [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

Synopsis: You have to be prepared and poised and perfect. But it’s hard to be all those things, even with the looming threat of your husband sitting next to you, when you’ve got a secret hidden underneath your clothes...

Word Count: 1875

Notes: yandere, forced marriage, abuse, bondage, NSFW 

Poised.

You must be poised. Every movement, every gesture, must embody a quiet grace. Your face must be pleasant, without seeming garishly joyous. Your voice must be soft, melodic, clear; yet loud enough to be heard without being required to repeat yourself. 

You must know how to keep a conversation going smoothly, like water in a stream, yet understand when to keep silent. You must know all of these things and so much more, and act on them at all times in the proper degree; all in order to avoid embarrass yourself and more importantly, embarrassing your husband.

In other words, you must be perfect.

And you try--you have to try, because what other choice does Scaramouche leave you?--but it’s difficult. You were never born for this stifled life he’s pushed you into, for a life spent mostly within the walls of his home or at most, behind the high, impenetrable walls of the courtyard.

A life draped in rich clothing, overseeing fine details of the estate that make your head spin. How many bags of this or that must be ordered per week? When should the bedding in that room be washed? What is the appropriate amount of money to put in a servant’s purse when sending them to the market? Questions you never imagined yourself asking yourself, which now fill your day with a gilded tedium.

There’s a deceptive leisure lurking underneath everything here. True, you no longer have to travel far and wide, selling your family’s wares from heavy baskets carried on your back; you no longer have to search the edges of the forest for edible plants to toss into boiling broth on days when you could not afford meat. You never want for food (unless he takes your dinner away as punishment) and any comfort you could need is within reach, so long as you’re behaving.

But you are on edge, always. Preparing yourself for another pitfall that might open up beneath your feet, and always looking for ways to improve yourself. Or at least ways to avoid earning your husband’s sharp disapproval. Regardless of your efforts, you have been on the wrong end of a harsh insult, a slap, a pinch, a cane, more times than you care to count.

Be prepared, be poised, be perfect. It’s the mantra you repeat to yourself every morning.

The mantra you repeated to yourself this particular morning, in preparation for a meeting he insisted you attend. A meeting which apparently required your finely-tuned skills in pleasing conversation and your much-practiced ability to “pour a passable cup of tea.”

Anyone else might assume it was meant to be an insult, but your time with Scaramouche has led to you to understand that the slightest praise towards you, while minuscule to others, was something you were meant to fall on your knees and thank him for. Sometimes literally, depending on his mood.

Why he wanted you to pour tea for some delegates from Fontaine, and what their increasing presence in the area really meant, you didn’t know. But it wasn’t your place to ask him, and the memory of recent stinging pain on your backside keeps you from feeling even remotely tempted to broach the subject.

So here you are. Dressed elegantly, but not garishly, as is proper for his wife. With a tea pot in your hand and perfectly arranged cups and the ghost of a pleasing smile on your face. Charming words drip from your lips, pleasantries, pleasantries, pleasantries--the type of words Scaramouche loathes yet drums into you all the same.

Prepared, poised, perfect.

Except for the slight tremble of your hands.

Except for the uncomfortable hitch in your breath as you speak.

Except for the fact that there are ropes tied snugly around your breasts, wrapping around your chest and criss-crossing between your breasts with an uncomfortable pressure, all hidden underneath the outfit he’d chosen for you that afternoon.

You’d balked, first--then begged. Begged not to be humiliated like this. What if someone sees? What will people say? You’d even tried to appeal to his pride, suggesting that if you couldn’t fully concentrate on your duties, well, how would that reflect on him?

All that earned you was a glint of a smirk and a tug as he knotted the rope encircling your breasts, making it even tighter than before. His final threat at your continued pleading--”I can always make you go out in nothing but the ropes”--finally shut you up.

And so, here you are. Face hot with shame and something more, silently pleading that your clothing won’t somehow shift and reveal the secret underneath. Despite the layers covering you, you still feel naked, exposed. As if the people indulging in polite conversation can see right through you, see the way your breasts are framed by the itchy ropes. See the way your body is responding to such a total humiliation. 

It’s not just the chafing rope that bothers you. It’s the pressure itself. It feels… no, you don’t want to think about how it feels.

Instead, you hone your focus in on the task at hand. Pouring the tea, a nice subtle blend made with Violetgrass flowers. A previous round of guests from Fontaine had enjoyed it so well that Scaramouche had you tell the teashop to start stocking up for future visits.

You wish you could hide the way your hand trembles ever so slightly as you pour the last cup of tea for a woman whose name you regrettably can’t remember. You normally repeat their names over and over in your head, lest you forget and endure Scaramouche’s sharp tongue (if not his cane) later on; but your predicament made it impossible to keep track of new information.

You might be able to enjoy the tea, enjoy the facsimile of polite conversation weaving its way around the table, if only you weren’t so distracted by the tightness, the chafing, the undeniable fact that--oh Archons above, that all of this was making your nipples humiliatingly hard underneath your clothing.

“Do you agree, wife?”

All eyes glance at you. Whatever Scaramouche just said had clearly be addressed to you, only you were too distracted to notice.

In the moments that you’re left half-gaping, mentally groping to somehow pull his previous words out from the ether, his hand snakes around your waist. You feel his fingers on the outside of the soft fabric, searching until they find their intended target--the knot--and tugging hard to tighten it further.

You gasp, your body lurching upward and forward at the sudden sensation of your breasts being squeezed, and the tea pot you’re still holding drops to the table. Time seems to slow to a thick crawl, and you can see the pot is not cracked, but tipped over, hot tea spilling onto the table underneath with abandon.

The sight of the dark brown stain spreading, trickling underneath saucers and cups, leaves you helpless until you force your shaking hands to grab the pot and set it back up on the table.

“I, I--” you start to stutter something. An apology? An explanation? But the constricting ropes and the dawning realization that you have just committed an extensive social faux pas--in front of guests, no less--leaves you helplessly unable to speak.

The guests, for their part, look suitably uncomfortable. The woman whose name you can’t remember is holding onto her cup, saving it from being intercepted by the trickling tea. You don’t know whether their looks are because of your embarrassing display or because they know your husband’s reputation, and feel pity for you. Perhaps a bit of both.

Scaramouche’s voice cuts through the tension, though it does nothing to lessen it.

“I apologize for my wife’s clumsiness,” he says. “I should have realized that she wasn’t up to the apparently complex task of serving tea.” His voice is dripping with condescension, making more heat rise to your cheeks.

Humiliation does not begin to describe what you feel as he gently--public appearances, you think--takes your arm and stands, bringing you with him.

“Perhaps you are ill.” He looks you up and down, faux-concern written all over his face. But you know what he’s really thinking about, as his eyes linger on your chest for a fraction longer than they should.

You swallow hard, and do your best to nod. It doesn’t take any effort to look ashamed at what’s transpired.

“I--I have been feeling unwell,” you say, making sure to project loud enough for the audience he’s curated for you. “I may be too tired.”

He shakes his head, as if he can’t believe your silliness. A silly, silly wife--that’s what you are. Never mind that it’s all his fault. Never mind that he chose to do this to you, and chose to do it in front of guests. 

A small, bitter part of you resents the guests for being there at all, resents the fact that they probably know you’re an unwilling ornament to the Harbringer’s obsession but do nothing about it.

But what good does resenting them do, when it won’t change your fate?

He takes your hand and gives it a pat, each touch patronizing to the core.

“Apologize to our guests and go rest. And send someone more capable to clean up your mess.”

You have to apologize for the fact that you spilled tea due to his decision to engage in some perverse bondage in a public fashion. You have to apologize for the fact that he deliberately made you do it, too, knowing how you might react when he pulled the rope.

It’s horrible and humiliating and unfair. 

But you do it anyway.

Turning towards the guests, gaze downcast with shame, you force out an apology; keeping your voice soft and melodic and clear, as expected.

Then you retreat as calmly as possible, feeling everyone’s gaze--but especially his--on your back as you leave. You catch the eye of the nearest servant as you make your way back to the bedroom, laying out the quickest version of events and not relishing the look of anxiety that crosses their features at the thought of dealing with Scaramouche after such an apparent social travesty.

But you only have enough energy to consider your own anxieties, so you continue on without thinking more about them.

Walking only seems to make the feeling of constriction worse, and you bite down on your lip as your sensitive nipples begin rubbing against the fabric with every step. It feels good, it feels bad--whatever it is, it’s all too much, and you want nothing more to cut off the ropes and hide until the morning.

Not that you have the courage to risk such an endeavor.

You don’t feel any calmer by the time you reach your shared bedroom, but at least your humiliation is a private one, now. And you can rest, at least until he’s finished for the evening. For a moment, you simply stand still, bringing your arm across your chest and pressing to provide some pressure, some relief, to your sensitive breasts. 

There’s an undeniable twist in your stomach when your arms brush against your nipples, and you hate it, and you love it, and you feel just as sick and perverse as he is when you slide a hand inside your clothing and give one aching nipple a pinch. You rub your legs together and ah, there it is--the pleasurable tingling and beginnings of wetness, and well, why not give yourself some pleasure, you think; why not give yourself something good and pleasant before he comes in and ruins everything with whatever sick punishment he’s concocting? 

It’s not until you make to curl up on the large bed, eager to relive the tension building inside you, that you see the scroll wrapped up on the pillow. With a sense of justifiable dread building in your stomach, you sit, and unfurl it. 

The words are written in Scaramouche’s familiar handwriting:

“Take off your clothes. Lay down and spread your legs on the bed until I return. Don’t touch yourself. I will know if you haven’t followed my instructions.”

Bastard, you think. As if your humiliation today wasn’t strong enough. Your hands go to undue the fastenings keeping your clothes together, and the first hints of bare skin leave you with anticipatory goosebumps. How long would you be expected to be on the bed, presenting yourself for his apparent pleasure? 

Bastard, bastard, bastard.

But--well. At least he didn’t tell you to bend over the caning stool again.

#yandere scaramouche #yandere genshin impact #scaramouche x reader #yandere #afterwitch writes

[wri0thesley]

Heyo! Could I please get a scenario of phone sex with Gojo please? Thank you so much, I found you through AO3 and love your writing!

a good night’s rest - gojo x fem!reader (2.7k)

gojo sends you a picture of himself in a hotel bed whilst he’s away on a mission. it preys on your mind. thankfully, gojo’s got a bit of a predicament on his end too. 

warnings: nsfw/minors dni! established relationship. phone sex, masturbation, use of toys. reader is afab and uses fem pronouns. 

[reblogs/comments appreciated! // my jjk masterlist]

You’ve long since learned to deal with being on your own.

It’s not that your boyfriend doesn’t want to be with you – when he is here, he wraps his arms around you and covers your face with kisses and squeezes you, holding you so tightly that you feel like he’ll never let go – but more that he has no choice but to have to go away. Satoru Gojo is the strongest jujutsu sorcerer in the whole goddamn world, and with that comes a world of responsibility. So even though his constant missions all around Japan and abroad make you pout and tug at his clothes and sigh, you accept that it’s a fact of life.

And when he is there with you, you make the most of him to the tune of his mouth on yours and you sinking down onto his cock until neither of you can think about anything but one another’s body, sweat-slicked and needy and pressed against each other as you climb to your peaks together, over and over and over.

But that doesn’t mean you don’t get needy when he’s away.

Tonight had been one of those nights. He’d sent you a picture of himself in his hotel bed, blindfold pushed up to reveal crystalline blue eyes with galaxies swirling in them, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth and two fingers held up to his cheek in a peace sign. It’s a silly photograph, more than anything else – but it had been hard for you to concentrate on anything when he’d been shirtless beneath the blankets. When you’d seen the lean lines of his broad shoulders and muscled chest, the bare, unmarked collarbones that were begging to be kissed and bitten.

After you’d noticed the bare top half, it had been impossible to not let your gaze linger on all of the other things. The pink tip of his tongue (that you wish was buried between your legs), the two fingers (that you wish were inside of you), the blankets bunched up around his hips hiding his cock (you’d wondered if he was naked in his fancy hotel bed and squeezed your legs together, a soft breath escaping you at the thought).

You’d sent him a picture back of you blowing a kiss to the camera, but you hadn’t been able to shake the thoughts about him.

So you’d let your fingers wander. Cupped your breast in your hand, tugged at your nipples – stroked over your stomach with the barest hint of your fingertips, brushing your soaked slit through the thin material of your underwear. You’d imagined they were Gojo’s fingers as well as you could, but it hadn’t been enough. It hadn’t been enough to bite into your lip and circle your clit imagining Gojo’s voice teasing you about how wet you were for him; and it hadn’t been enough when you’d slipped one finger inside of yourself to the knuckle and it hadn’t hit you in all the same places that Gojo’s fingers do.

You’d been laid on your bed, teeth clenched and sweat beading on your hairline with tears of frustration welling in the corners of your eyes, when your phone had begun to ring and you’d seen Gojo’s name flash up.

“Hello?” You’d breathed into the receiver, fumbling with the hand not inside of you to answer. You hear an answering sigh, Gojo’s voice pitching into a whine as he says;

“Doll? I miss you.”

Your eyes close.

“I miss you too,” you breathe. You wonder if he can hear the light hitch in your breath – if he’s wondering what you’re doing right now. You hope not. It would be embarrassing, you think, to be caught in this particular act. “It’s nice to hear your voice.”

“It’s nice to hear yours!” He chirps, too bright considering that it’s what – two in the morning? “I’ve been trying to go back to sleep ever since you sent me that picture, but . . .” His voice drops, low. “Cupcake--”

“Did you like it?” You ask, the change in his tone sending shivers down your spine. He chuckles down the line and you feel yourself clench around the finger still buried inside of you, a little bolt of electric heat shooting down your spine.

“Like it? Oh . . .” He takes a soft little breath. “You knew exactly what you were doin’, huh?”

“Says you,” you whisper, your voice dropping to something low and throaty. “Were you wearing underwear in the one you sent?”

He chuckles down the line.

“We-e-ell,” he says, drawing out the syllable into a sing-song, “I’m sure not wearing it now.”

“Me neither,” you admit. Your face is burning hot, but you move the phone a little – you pull your finger half out of you before driving it back in, the wet sound obvious even (you hope) through the line. Gojo makes a groan, a whistle through his teeth – but he manages to keep his tone teasing as he says;

“Ahh, now – is that what I think it is? Tch!” He clicks his tongue at you in mock disappointment. “You’re so naughty, dollface--”

“What are you doing right now?” You ask him, and he laughs. You hear the noise of something slick and wet and you think of him pumping his shaft (how thick, how long it always looks in his hand) and have to swallow back the lump in your throat.

“That’d be telling!” He says, brightly, but he ends with a light laugh. “I think you can guess, can’t you?”

“D’you miss me that much?” You slide a second finger inside of yourself, relishing the stretch of your slick, tight walls around you.

“More than words can say,” he breathes. “I’d fuckin’ kill to have you with me right now, doll-- my hands don’t feel half as good as yours--”

“My fingers don’t reach as far as yours,” you admit, breathlessly. You know he must be able to hear that those fingers are sliding in and out of you faster and harder with every moment that passes. “I--”

“Get a toy,” Gojo says. His voice has dropped a semitone; low, and commanding. He’s usually carefree with his words, but when he gets an idea into his head he clings to it. He loves being in control. “The blue one, you know the one I like--”

You fumble, pulling your fingers out of yourself with a slick pop. The bottom drawer has a little collection of sex toys in, most of which you’d owned before you’d met Gojo – some of which he’d bought you, though, because he liked the idea of spicing up your sex life.

“It’s not that I don’t think I can satisfy you,” he’d said, with a crooked, cheeky grin. “But . . . it’s nice to introduce some tools every so often, right?” He’d winked at you and pressed the blue dildo into your hand. “This one’s almost as long as me and only a little bit thinner--”

“I’ve got it,” you breathe, once you’re back on the bed, and Gojo makes a pleased hum in the back of his throat.

“Get it nice and wet for me like a good girl,” he says. Even though he can’t see you, you open your mouth and gently begin to kiss and lick the toy as if it were Gojo’s cock. You give kitten licks to the swollen head, soft kisses along where the slit would be (those always make Gojo groan, tilt his head back so you can see the column of his throat and you throb with need at how gorgeous he looks when you’re on your knees for him). Gently suckling just the head into the cavern of your mouth, before sliding further down on it--

You make a conscious effort to not quieten your noises. It’s a sloppier blowjob than you’d give Gojo, but all he has to go on right now is the audio of the phone call and you imagine the wet noises of you drooling around the toy are much sexier than you silently giving it a careful suck to wet it before you put it inside you.

Judging from Gojo’s reaction – the groaning you can hear coming from the other end, the ragged sighs – your efforts are not in vain.

“Good girl,” he says, as if he can see you, when you manage to deep-throat almost the whole thing. “I think that’s plenty wet enough now, right? T-tell me how you’re feeling--”

The light stutter is endearing – you imagine him stroking his thumb over the slit of his cock, swirling his pre-come over the reddened tip.

“I’m so wet,” you whimper, through the phone. “If I don’t get something inside of me soon I think I’ll die--”

“Fuck,” he says. “I wish it was me you were putting inside, doll.”

“Me too,” you say, with a sigh. “But this’ll have to do--”

“I’ll fuck you until I can’t walk when I’m home, I promise.” There’s a steely undercurrent to Gojo’s words that do not leave you doubting he means them sincerely. “But for now . . . bring the toy down your body, princess.” You follow his instructions, shivering at the sensation of the wet tip of it leaving a trail of your own saliva. “Touch your tits for me, come on-- if I were there, I’d kiss and bite your nipples until they were sore and aching, but . . . I’m not, so you’re gonna have to do it for me. Give ‘em a pinch--”

The hand not holding the toy puts the phone on speaker and places it beside you on the bed so you can heed his instructions. The sound of his low voice giving you orders and commands seems to intensify the ache inside of you threefold – as you pinch your nipples almost hard enough to hurt, as you squeeze the heavy weight of your breast and wish your fingertips were as big and as rough as Gojo’s. His hands always feel so good on you. You whimper aloud as you skim the sensitive skin, your nipples sore points as Gojo finally says;

“The toy, doll. I want you to rub it through your pussy for me, I wanna hear how wet you are--”

It does, indeed, make an indecent noise as the head of the dildo parts your slick folds. You’re drenched.

“Fuck,” Gojo groans. “You sound like you’re dripping--”

“I am,” you say, choked as you rub the smooth head over your poor, swollen clit. He hasn’t told you to put it inside of you yet, so you hold back; but fuck, you want to. You need to. “Wish you were here, Satoru--”

“I wish I was too,” he reassures you. “I need your hands on me, princess. Need your pretty cunt. Need to feel you squeeze around me and fuck you until you can’t walk--” As he speaks, you hear a growl in the back of his throat and imagine his hand getting faster on his cock. Your thighs are trembling.

“Satoru—” You whine, again, his words not helping the ache in your lower belly that feels like a physical pain. “N-need something inside of me, need it--”

“Shhh,” he breathes, “put it in, c’mon. Slowly. Let me imagine it filling you up.”

You’re so grateful for him telling you to put it in that you almost get greedy and press it in you in one fell swoop – but you want to be good for Gojo, so you manage to control yourself. You feel the wider flare of the head open you up as you ease it inside you inch by inch, your greedy channel swallowing it up and clinging to it tight and hot. It feels much better than your fingers do – it hits you deeper, fuller, wider. The muscles in your thighs clench as you put your feet on the bed, keeping your legs parted as wide as you can.

“Is it in?” He asks, and you make a soft whimper of assent. “How’s it feel?”

“N-not as good as you--”

You win a chuckle from him that has a strained chord in.

“Yeah, I know. But it’s the next best thing, right? You full? It good? I haven’t got anything to imagine is you except my own hand, dollface, so you’re winning the battle--”

“I’ll make it up to you,” the words tumble out of you, your breath heaving.

“Oh, I know you will . . . You wanna move the toy for me now? You wanna fuck yourself on it? I wanna hear you come,  doll, so I can come with you--”

You don’t need to be told twice. You pull the toy out of you and immediately thrust it back in, establishing a rhythm as quickly as you can. Gojo would take his time – he loves having you at his mercy, shivering and shaking and begging him to go faster and faster and harder and harder, but you do not have the patience for that tonight without his body on top of yours. So you let the fast noises of you fucking yourself on the dildo echo around the too-empty bedroom, the curved spot of it hitting you just right with every desperate flex and thrust of your wrists. You want to be fucked out of your mind. You’re moaning, gasping, sighing his name aloud – and in return, you can hear the sound of Gojo’s hands on his shaft. He’s whispering your name in turn, along with filthy things about how tight you always are for him and how you’re his favourite, his good girl, he’s gonna fuck you into next week when he sees you, he needs your cunt around his cock right fucking now--

The hand not controlling the movement of the toy skims your stomach to part the plump lips of your sex, to play with your clit as you fuck yourself on the dildo. You circle the sensitive bundle of nerves a few times before beginning to rub in earnest, needing the direct stimulation. The pad of your finger is not large and calloused like Gojo’s is (his finger always feels so good on your clit, too – he always seems to know exactly how to swirl it, how much pressure to put on it, to build you up), but in tandem with the shaft currently plunging in and out of your walls--

“Satoru,” you pant, turning your head so your cheek is pressed against the pillow. “I’m-- I’m close--”

“Fuck,” you hear the slick sounds get faster, almost impossibly so. “Fuck, fuck, I want you to come for me, dollface, angel, cupcake, baby girl, princess-- lemme hear your pretty voice--”

Your eyes flutter closed and a vision of Gojo swims to the forefront of your mind – his pale hair slicked back with sweat, his shoulders so broad, his eyes glittering so dangerously as his teeth dig into his unfairly plump bottom lip. You recall the sound of his voice telling you to come.

The swirling tornado of heat inside of you seems to all converge on a single point between your thighs, and the ache in both of your wrists seems, too, to dissipate entirely as that point explodes into a thousand pieces and rains pleasurable sparks all over you, a tsunami crashing onto a peaceful shore.

You wail out Gojo’s name as you come, and whilst you’re still cresting the great wave of pleasure Gojo grunts out your own and you know that he’s come too.

You lie there with the toy still buried inside of you as you ride out the final waves, the trembling aftershocks. Your legs seize up and you lose your footing on the sheets so you’re simply laid there, a boneless, useless mess whose breath will not seem to stay in their lungs.

Gojo’s breathing is stuttered, and you cannot help the thrill that goes through you at the knowledge that you always get to be the one to break Satoru Gojo’s cool composure. Your fingers ache, but the sheets beneath them as you relax into the bed is blessedly cool.

“I’ll be home as soon as I can,” Gojo’s voice comes, after the two of you have spent a few minutes simply breathing deep and satisfied down the line at one another. “I can’t wait to see you.”

“I can’t wait to see you either,” you murmur, a smile on your face that leaks through into your tone. Gojo’s own smile is obvious when he speaks, too;

“Thanks, dollface. I think I’ll get a good night’s rest now.”

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo thirst #not sfw #writing #afab reader #fem pronouns #jjk posting #jjk writing #Anonymous

[spenciebabie]

Can you do a blurb where it’s prof!reid and readers had sex before but not experienced enough,so then he teaches her how to ride him in his classroom!

It’s a long one folks! And here’s some visuals, here and here

He waits until long after the building has cleared out. He’s usually the one that stays the latest and locks up anyway so it hardly looks suspicious. And no one has to know that you were staying late too. You’d been doing this whole thing in secret for a while now, and as much as you didn’t want to be cliche and admit it, the sneaking around was what made the whole thing such a turn on.

You’d had sex in his office a few times, in his apartment once or twice, but nothing had ever really happened in his classroom. But that was the very place that your courtship began, the stolen glances, the short post-class tension-filled conversations, until one day you both caved and shared a kiss after the class had cleared out. It felt only right to have sex in this classroom at least once.

So when Spencer asked you to drop by the room around 10pm on a Tuesday you had some idea why. He locked the door after you and pulled you into a rough kiss immediately, hands roaming all over your body over your coat. When he finally gave you the space to pull back you were both panting already.

“Fuck, I’ve just been thinking about that all day, I missed you” he smiles and you can’t help but smile back as you unbutton your coat. 

You missed the days when you were his student last semester, when you were both so coy about your affections. Back then you used to wear things just to see if you could catch his attention. So you decided to put together an outfit for the occasion. As you slowly unbutton your coat and shrug it off your shoulders Spencer’s breath catches in his throat.

You’re standing in front of him in the shortest white pleated skirt, the soft skin of your thighs distracting him so much that he barely notices the little blouse you’ve got on and the way it strains against your chest. 

“If you didn’t ask me out when you did I probably would’ve shown up to class dressed like this” you smirk, but he just looks lost for words.

“Desk- I uh, I cleaned off my desk” he blurts out momentarily stunned.

“And why did you go and do that?” you tease, wandering over towards the huge hardwood desk at the front of the room, hopping up onto it so your legs dangle off the side. When Spencer doesn’t move to join you, you make a point of opening your legs, spreading them wide in an invitation. And that catches his attention as he races over to you, standing against the desk, nestled between your thighs. 

“You know I used to think about this every night” He whispers, leaning in close to your ear. “I used to picture what it would be like if I just stopped messing around and fucked you. If I held you back after class one day and just fucked you against the side of this desk” 

As he speaks his hands trail along the side of your body, moving all the way down until they pass the hemline of your skirt. And then they begin to slowly sneak under the fabric and your breath catches. Once his fingers settle between your legs and he finds no fabric in his way, he grows confident again. 

“I thought you might be that kind of girl, you always did wear these fucking skirts just to tease me, crossing and uncrossing your legs just to get to me. I always wondered what you wore under them” he groans as his fingers move delicately against your wet folds.

“Can I tell you a secret?” you gasp as his fingertip brushes right up against your clit, and he nods, “Some days, when I could tell you were flushed- ah- and hard because of me, I’d- fuck- I’d go right to the bathroom after class, and I’d touch myself” 

“I knew you were no angel, walking in here in your cute little outfits like you were such an innocent little thing” he growls, pulling his fingers back and leaving you wanting.

“M’sorry, I’m a good girl, I promise. You just make me so- I don’t know...” you look up at him with pleading eyes.

“Are you a good girl, really? Tell me something you haven’t done?” He says as he looks you up and down, taking a step back to watch you think, your legs still swinging off the side of the table. 

“You can’t laugh at me” you say, a little nervous, looking anywhere but at Spencer as you speak, “I’ve never been... on top” 

His hand reaches out to caress the side of your face, tilting it up so that you can see the softness in his eyes.

“Is that something you want to do baby, do you want to ride me?” 

With no hesitation your head is bobbing up and down in eager agreement, “Please, Sir?”

In what feels like no time at all Spencer’s laying down on his desk wearing nothing but his shirt, opened in a rush but not fully removed. And he’s signaling for you to join him on the desk.

“Should I take off my clothes?” you ask, toying with the buttons of your blouse.

“Everything but the skirt, I gotta fuck you in that thing at least once” so you follow his instructions and you’re climbing up onto the desk a moment later, throwing one leg over Spencer’s hip to kneel over him. 

“That’s a good girl” he says, his hands reaching up to hold onto your waist. “If you reach down and grab by cock, it’ll be easier for you to line it up, okay sweetheart?” he encourages, and you nod.

Trailing one hand down you use it to lift up the front of your skirt so that he can see what you’re doing, and with the other hand you gently grab his cock and line it up between your legs. Working on instinct you guide the head of it between your folds first and it glides through the wetness, nudging against your sensitive clit on each pass. When you feel ready you place the head at your entrance and slowly lower yourself down along the length.

“Fuckkkk” Spencer lets out in a rough groan, “You feel so fucking good like this, so tight and warm”

The praise alone has you excited and eager to do a good job. Staying still for a moment, getting used the full feeling, and then clenching around him, forcing a moan from deep in his throat.

“Oh god, do that again” he moans, his hands digging in to the sides of your waist as he speaks, and so you do, and this time his eyes roll back in his head just a little. “Your pussy is perfect sweetheart”

“Should I- Do you want me to move now?” you ask, biting your lip and watching his blissed out expression.

“If you’re ready? I want you to start moving your hips up and down, you can go as fast or as slow as you want, okay?”

“Okay Sir” you respond and you start to move, using your thighs to rock up and down steadily along his length. It takes a little time and concentration but eventually you find just the right angle to move your hips so that his cock hits the right spot on each thrust.

“Oh fuck- Spence- it feels-” you mumble out, having next to no idea what you’re trying to say.

“You’re doing such a good job baby, do you think you can go any faster?” he moans, strong hands guiding you as best as he can. But you just let out a little whimper at his request.

“I don’t know, I’m close but- my legs-” you start but he shakes his head.

“Don’t worry baby, I’ve got you” he coos.

Then he changes his position slightly, bending his legs so his feet are flat behind you, his hands holding roughly onto your hips now to keep you still. And then he starts to fuck up into you, harsh and fast, and deeper than you thought possible from this angle. 

The feeling is so intense that you can barely keep yourself upright anymore, your hands falling down to rest against Spencer’s chest in an effort not to collapse onto it completely.

“Do you like that baby? Are you gonna cum all over my cock?” he groans, his eyes locked on yours as his hips continue to pump up and down, filling the classroom with such filthy sounds.

“Fuck, Spencer- I’m- feels so fucking good” you moan as you reach your climax, finally losing all strength and collapsing against Spencer’s flushed chest as he pumps only two or three more times and he’s there too. Filling you up completely, as his hips slow down to a stop.

Once both of your breathing has steadied, and you can lift yourself up off Spencer’s sweaty body, he’s looking up at you with pure adoration. 

“You did so good baby” he smiles, his hands reaching up to brush against your warm cheek.

“I don’t think I was that good, I got so tired so fast” 

He shakes his head with a small laugh, “That’s just because you need more practice baby”

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #professor!spencer #professor!spencer x reader #mgg smut #mgg x reader #mgg imagine #Matthew gray gubler smut #Matthew gray gubler imagine #matthew gray gubler x reader #blurb #blurbs #imagine #imagines #anon #answered

[mintmatcha]

11:43pm - akaashi keiji

cw: smut, tit worship, praise, breeding

The weight of Akaashi creeping into bed jostles you out of your sleep. Blindly, you reach for him, your hand coming to rest on his chest. The fabric is cool under your touch, shivering as he tucks himself under the comforter and into your arms.

“What time is it?” you grumble.

“Late.” Akaashi’s hands are already wandering your sides, gathering the fabric in his hand. There’s gravel in his voice and a droop in his eyelids, the weight of the day hanging heavy on him. You reach up and trace over his features with just the tips of your fingers, ghosting over his fine features with uneven patterns. When you get to his glasses, you slip them off carefully. The bags under his eyes seem so deep, so heavy with exhaustion.

“Keiji, you need rest.” you chide as you shuffle over him, placing his glasses on the nightstand. As you start to return to your spot, he catches your arm and holds you in place above him. 

“Not yet,” he drags a hand under your shirt, eyes burning down your body at the exposed skin. His knuckles graze over your nipple with an almost wonder. “I missed you.”

You let out a breathy laugh as you dip down and kiss him. In the dark, where no one can see him, he’s sloppy, tongue dragging across your bottom lip as he desperately tries to pull you closer. Your thighs are around his waist, squeezing as he grinds up into you. He unceremoniously shoves your shirt up above your tits and breaks the kiss, straining to run his tongue across your skin. 

“You need sleep.” you chastise, trying to sit up, but he holds you firm. 

“Let me make you feel good.” he says firmly. He’s not shy in the way he worships your tits, mouth falling open to fit as much as he can inside. He sucks and nips patterns across your skin as his hands grip your hips and roll you over his hardening cock. His tip, precum pearled at the slit, sticks out of the top of his boxers.

Silently, you move your panties to the side, letting your arousal drop onto the thin fabric. He lets out a low moan, one that vibrates through his chest, as he fucks up into you, only the thin fabric keeping him from slipping inside. 

“Let me make you feel good,” he repeats into the plush of your skin, begging. His hand pushes down the elastic of his boxers roughly, “Let me feel you cum.”

Akaashi presses inside you slowly, bucking as slowly as he can and watching how your face contorts. “Pretty,” he whispers as the crown of his cock pops inside, “Perfect little thing, tight little thing.” he creeps in, inch by inch, until he’s fully seated inside you. He rocks his hips back and forth lazily, but the fullness makes you shiver and sweat. His thumb swirls over your clit, firm enough to build you up, but not fast enough to actually make you cum. He’s fine taking his time with you, letting you whimper and whine above him. 

But you can’t take it anymore. You start bouncing feverishly, nails digging into his chest for support. His head falls back on to the pillow, biting into his lip to hold back his groans. His hands urge you faster. He’s keening, face flushed with effort as he mumbles sweet nothings. 

“Fuck.” he curses, voice high and tight, “I’m- I’m already close.”

“It’s- it’s okay,” you whine, “Cum inside. I want it.”

He squeezes harder, flesh pushing between his fingers. “Y-yeah?” he huffs as he fucks up into you, “You want that? W-want my cum?”

He ruts up hard. “Wanna have my baby?” 

It takes all of your concentration to whine out a little ‘yes’ as you come undone around him. It takes only a couple more strokes for him to follow, his thick, hot cum filling you.  His pace shudders to a halt, but he doesn’t pull out. Your can feel the steady drip of his spend leaking out of you and down to his balls.

He lets out a deep breath and pulls you forward on to his chest, placing a kiss on to the top of your head as you collapse.

“You can pull out now.” you whisper.

“Don’t wanna,” Akaashi sighs, “Too tired.” he gives one final thrust before crumbing,  “Too warm.”

#basically #this is just smut practice #because im OUT OF PRACTICE #ignore this

[silksaddle]

The Traveler 2

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x f!reader Western AU

Chapter summary: 1907, Old West. Talk of the Statesman gang is slowly on the rise while Jack continues to distract you from your chores, taking you on another but entirely different night-time outing. 

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, language, guns, mentions of alcohol and gangs, copious flirting, SMUT, oral sex (m & f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex/piv sex, outdoor sex, thigh spanking, please pardon me for the amount of smut content in this chapter, a crumb of plot development, Jack Daniels again...

Word count: 14k (leave me alone)

A/N: gif credit to @javier-pena once again! thank you my beloved astrid! and as always, much love to my amazing friends who sent me inspo posts and listened to my anxious ramblings about god-knows-what. you are all the best and you have my heart.

Read Chapter One ~ Series Masterlist

Chapter Two: Six Shooter

Jack is spreading his half-naked body over the mattress in a contented stretch when you return to the bedroom, flustered and hot-cheeked.

“You here to take my sheets, darlin’? I must insist I keep ‘em,” he chortles, turning his bright face over the soft pillow as you attempt stripping the sheets from under him, your lungs emptying in a huff when he catches your wrist and draws you to him instead. Your body lands perfectly on top of his with your weak protest, a poor match for his irresistibly gravel-like voice and his buzzing snugness.

“You’re making my job quite difficult,” you mumble into his neck, kissing the smooth skin there although your words are much more harsh. His chest rumbles, fingers running the length of your clothed back from when he’d hurriedly laced you back into your dress, lips skimming graceful but mindless lines on your temple.

“Mrs. Adler thinks you’re doing your chores.” Jack’s palms are now ghosting over your shoulders as you prop yourself up on your elbows, taking his gaze with you as you move, and you can tell your dilating pupils are betraying the falseness of your annoyed tone when you look at his expanding chest. He takes a deep breath in, the angle of morning light catching his eyes just right to melt them into golden flecks, his dishevelled hair incurable without a bath. 

You card your fingers through, and though it’s slightly tangled, the texture is silky enough to brush through the messy state and straighten it out, just a smidge. The touch causes his eyes to flutter closed, and shimmying up his body, he leans his head back to expose his neck further, the long lines and tone popping against each other. His breath hitches when he feels your own puffing across it, his chest immobile while he waits to feel something more from you, but you don’t kiss him, don’t nip him, don’t caress him there.

“I’ve only come to take your sheets to wash them— I should already be downstairs,” you insist and he mopes, your voice softly carrying throughout the bright bedroom, limbs absent-mindedly wrapping around his firm ones until he clings to you.

“Oh,” he hums, tipping his body until you roll under him onto the no-longer-fresh sheets, landing on your back with his hands cradling your head. His handsome smile makes you forget you ever needed to take his sheets in the first place, and when he kisses you deeply, moaning low when you open up for him and his bare skin slides over you, you don’t even remember where you are. “Thought you’d wanted some more of me…”

“Mmm, Jack— she’s already a little suspicious of me,” you giggle, wriggling underneath his heavy weight and it’s a futile effort beneath his affection, his lips laying warm insistent kisses all over your forehead, your cheeks, your jaw. He’s unstoppable, whether it’s the heaviness or the happiness that makes you lie there and take it with quiet laughter as the rough skin of his cheek touches gently to yours. 

Jack is as much the sunshine of the room as the real thing, chuckling sweetly along with you and growing more pleased the louder your squealing sounds become, your fingers pulling across the bare skin of his back— he likes it too much to let you off in a timely manner.

Mrs. Adler had only just believed your excuse of a poor sleep as you’d rushed out in a tizzy with your disheveled hair and clothes, and a terrible flourish of panic had bloomed in your chest at the thought of an unchecked mark lingering on your neck. But Jack had looked you over meticulously; deft fingers had worked at the laces of your layers. And even before making it to the kitchen, two dozen kisses wet on your thighs, you’d opened the door only to find the old woman pacing about on the landing of the stairs. Slamming it shut with your back on the wood, panting in the face of confrontation, Jack snickered and peeked out for you a minute later, confirming your chance to slip out undetected.

Now finished serving breakfast, Jack once again prevents you from carrying out your tasks.

“You’ve left me with a lastin’ impression,” he rasps, eyes crinkling as he slips a hand under your skirt and the touch tickles and inspires a giddy laugh from your throat as you swat him away, at last slipping out from under him. 

“Give me your sheets, you greedy man,” you order, lifting your chin and furrowing your brow with your arm extended. Jack purses his lips and thinks, sitting up to run a hand through his dark hair, your smile growing despite yourself when it sticks up in bulky curls to leave his contented face in view. 

“These sheets have got your smell on ‘em now,” he grins like it’s his most favoured fact in his whole life, leaning back into his palms and his cock is slowly hardening between his legs as he considers his next words, “your cum is on them.”

“Jack,” you chuckle, “you’re dirty.” Inching closer to him, his joyous face turns dark when you arrive in the middle of his strong thighs extending past the edge of the bed, “Get up, please, or I’ll have you explaining why I’m behind schedule for the second time today.”

He presses up onto his feet, his gentle scent covering you as if a fleeting spell, and before any more rational thoughts occur, your hand is reaching into his unbuttoned pants, wrapping around his hard length. His head tips back, the softest growl filling your ears and he pushes his hips forward, placing his hands on your cheeks, urging your lips to slide along his as he fucks into your tight fist. It’s a sweet kiss compared to his already desperate thrusts, his cum still streaking your thighs, inside of you, outside of you, from mere hours before.

“I told you I’d come back here tonight. We’ve plenty of time to ruin more sheets.” Your whisper earns a heavy sigh expelled onto your skin, his grip sliding down to your neck and as his mouth hangs open, you nip at his bottom lip and pull it into your mouth, a tender suckle on the plush softness. He hisses as you let it go, burying his nose into the curve of your neck, and stilling his movements with your hand, he lets you work him like that— your fingers tightly curled around his cock as you slide it in and out of your palm. 

“Fuck me,” he groans, “I better see you back here if you’re gonna touch me like this, darlin’.”

Smiling, you pump him quickly, whispering how you can still feel him as if he’s fucking you right now, how good he is, how thick, and he growls from his chest, shutting his eyes tight in concentration.

“Maybe you’ll let me touch you tonight, too, Jack, leave your ropes for another time…” Your free hand clamps around the back of his neck, twirling your fingers around the hair at the nape of it, before tugging him down for a slower kiss, capturing his striking whine in your mouth.

“Shit, darlin’... I’d do anything you say right about now… Christ,” Jack’s fingers trace the neckline of your bodice as his lips skate along your cheek, and his voice is so husky and rumbly, you almost consider a greater risk of trouble.

He makes no protest as you bend carefully, still pumping his thick cock while you yank the sheet away from the mattress, pulling back to fold it into your arms and finally leaving his hard length unattended. Jack’s eyes snap open in a crushing neediness, his displeased but wrecked voice calling after you in a bid to keep you here and he laughs incredulously, “You get back here right now.”

Backing up into the door, your lip caught in your teeth, you reach behind and find the cool handle, offering a cheeky grin before you slip away and murmur, “I’m busy.”

-

A mellow afternoon follows Jack’s disgruntled exit to the fractional post office, stealing a rushed kiss in the corner of the parlour for the mere seconds you were alone together, giddy glances spared through the window on his walk to work. You spend a small segment of your time concocting tea for Mrs. Adler who pours over the payment book, thanking you as she slides a list across the bar; it’s full of all things you know to do without the help of paper and pencil.

“How about that Mr. Daniels?”

Spluttering, you swivel on your heel, unsure of the intention of her question, your eyes mistakenly blowing wide with no answer to fill the subsequent silence. She must know, you worry, she must.

“What about him?” You query, looking down at your apron in no need of smoothing, yet your hands fiddle with the pockets, and her amused scoff scrapes through your uneasy stance.

“My, you’d better sleep well tonight... that man whipped those fools down in a second,” she laughs, flipping the page of the large notebook and scribbling something down with a spotted, shaky hand. 

“He did.” Wiping your face, you conceal a sliver of a smile under your hand when you think of him— ease and cockiness burned down to his big pleading eyes looking up at you for permission. “Thought you disliked him.”

“Well, I could admit we need someone like that around here more often,” she croaks as you pretend to look over the list of laundry, sweeping, cooking, cleaning. The sentiment lands somewhere uncomfortable in your chest— you no more than agree with her and you could never tell her why or how.

“Oh, and dear, the sheriff came by this morning,” she adds, relaying his spiel of reports.

Only the most notable happenings make it over from town to town, lawlessness rendering crime nothing more than irrelevant. It takes a mass robbery, or a mammoth fire, or an offense so deeply doused and coloured red in rage to make the rounds of neighbouring settlements, so when Mrs. Adler shares the spreading news of heightened gang exploits a little ways north, your heart sinks and adopts a painfully heavy sensation.

“He advises to be extra careful,” she finishes with a stern look, “they could be coming here for all we know. Those Statesman men are horrible…”

“Statesman?” you echo her words, scouring the back of your mind to place the familiarity of that name, but she smiles in return to soften your worried brow. Statesmen, a Statesman. You’d read it somewhere, embellished into leather or stitched into the label of a visitor’s coat while tidying.

“I wouldn’t worry too much. If anything, girl, that Daniels boy should be of use.”

A challenge not to snicker, she gives you, when she tells you not to fuss, as if you’ve got the liberty to enjoy the outdoors where a vigilant attitude is required— but Jack is the remedy, you think, eyeing the stray strands of her brittle grey hair twisted up, scrunching your nose.

“Alright, Mrs. Adler,” you agree, passing her through to the laundry closet.

The air is stuffy inside the small, shelved room, where pleasing, cooling, tiny splashes pepper your forearms as you pour the water bucket into one of the tubs, then grabbing the soap, you flump onto the short stool and drag the laundry basket to your side. The first sheet on the pile is the last one you’d taken— Jack’s— carrying his heady and wood-fiery scent now mingled with yours. With a vibration of anticipation up your spine, your thoughts twirl upon your admittedly cruel handling of his need— tonight, you’re surely in for it.

The usual, slowly passing and hot hours fill with inescapable reveries toeing the line of unrealistic: a cloudy day in bed, a sunny evening at the river, clothes discarded to the side. Shaking those heart string-stretching thoughts and trading for a better focus, you hang the wringed sheets on the line as the last blazes of the sun spread over the field, and take a moment to rest your elbows on the log fence at the back of the yard overlooking the vast, lush area. 

Something heavy, once more, tugs at your weary limbs, watching the calm breeze push along the beige blades of plant-life, and you think of Sylvie— her bright mane and soothing demeanor, the rush of riding with her and him. The thrill no longer chased, waiting for you still. There must be a few months worth left of him, two at the least, perhaps enough to soothe your aching heart in seeking more vibrant days. But before too long, you set back on your course of chores, trekking up to tidy the bathing rooms for those coming back from a dirty day.

Jack finds you there an hour later in the open door, kneeling on the floor by the bathing tub, scrubbing away at its already-shiny exterior, and he smiles under the sticky and sweaty clothes, watching the way your body jostles with movement.

“Hey, cruel woman.”

Halting, your head briefly hangs between your shoulders before you sit back on your heels and grin up at him, his weary feet leading him towards you, a set of clean clothes hanging off his arm. His shirt is sheer in some places more than others, namely his chest, damp with muscular effort. 

“Did you have a hard day, Jack?” You question, making big eyes at him from your low spot compared to his tall height, and his face grows slightly stern.

“Oh, darlin’, you know I did,” he kneels, takes your chin in his hand and you find yourself leaning up into his face, mere inches from his lips, entranced by their pouty curve. But he doesn’t kiss you. He pinches your chin harder, a deep pressure as he looks over you, taking in the way you indulgently advance until you’re on hands and knees, caged by his own, staring at him with none of the power you held this morning.

“You oughta continue what you started…” he whispers almost on your lips, never close enough to touch, your eyelids heavily drooping as you look down his torso, leading to his cock.

“Oh,” you sigh, slick pooling where he can’t see or feel it, “Jack, I can…” 

You crawl forward between his spread legs until your nose nudges the material of his pants, resting your weight back on your knees when you reach out for him, but his face is a sinister, knowing grin when steadily rises back up to stand, rocking into his heels.

“Not now, though,” he coos, swiping a damp thumb over your lip, “off you go, little lady.”

“Why—”

Whining involuntarily, you watch while he shrugs off his suspenders and closes his eyes, fluttering back open with a smirk at Mrs. Adler’s distant call for you to prepare dinner.

“That’s why.”

Your mouth hanging open, you roll your eyes, taking his calloused hand as he aids you upward from the hard floor, though he finally gives you a greeting of a peck on the cheek, “Later, angel, you can show me what you’ve been thinkin’ about all day.”

Nudging your body, he sends you off to your chores in a frazzled state and shuts the door with a wink, settling in to wash himself off from the dust and dirt.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt so needy, it nearly feels stupid to still have the crushing weight of wanting Jack as you chop ingredients, peek into cupboards, fill plates. It’s even worse when he sits at the table, clean and fresh and irresistibly smooth, chatting in easy conversation with Mrs. Crockett who enjoys his company dearly as she tells him uninteresting stories of her husband. 

He watches your back as you turn about the steps, as you pass along plates to each person, and he brushes his fingers purposely along yours when you arrive at his spot, a gesture to offer his silent token of appreciation. Your breath catches, and his wink sets it free again through a quiet sigh, smiling sweetly for him. He tries not to laugh, you notice, and you stop yourself from touching his shoulder here in front of everyone— namely Mrs. Crockett, who has also made a poor reputation of gossip and a budding friendship with Mrs. Adler who is closest to her in age. The last thing you can manage is a rumour about your little life; by that point you’d be begging Jack to take you with him even before the post office is built, even with so much left to explore with him.

As the chitter-chatter diminishes down to an empty table with empty plates, and the visitors disperse into corners or run off to different buildings— they always come back for dinner to get their money’s worth— you sort out the dried laundry, slipping into the ladies’ rooms to aid with corsets, all with distant thoughts in a place where they shouldn’t be. They never ask about your day so much as they speak of theirs, whether time spent with their sweetheart, telling you how they prefer their things folded, or muttering how much they liked dinner. The last one you take lightly, thanking the ladies in whispers. Now, though, it doesn’t cause as much of an ache in your heart when you listen to their free and happy memories— you think of doing the same with Jack, of asking him and receiving his sweet smile in return, ready if you are.

When you finally sit at your simple vanity, it’s with a powerful sigh that you remove your boots, step out of your clothes, and trade them for your nightgown. You pull the threaded pink ribbon taut into a bow, and look over yourself in the mirror, giddy in your stomach for when the time comes to slip into Jack’s room. Judging by the clock, another half hour would do to be sure everyone has settled in so you can sneak in complete privacy, and it feels less daunting now than it ever did before.

Folding your petticoat to lay the soft cotton on the tabletop, you hear the handle click and turn and you gasp fiercely in response, rising from the chair as Jack all but barrels in, haphazardly shutting the door before swooping you into his arms.

“Oh, my—” you squeal, cut off by a rough kiss that you eagerly return, bombarded with the scent of his soap and shaving cream. You only urge him off with your hands sneaking between your bodies to press on his chest and ask a burning question, his lips not wanting to part from you. It’s a tiny struggle but he eventually gives way, fondly looking down at you as you speak. “Did anyone see you?”

“Hall was empty. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ of you… lost my damn patience,” he croons, plushy lips open on your neck, leaving kisses that bloom into pleasant flourishes of need like ink dipped into water. It’s a new spot that you allow him to explore, bringing your hands up his wide shoulders as you turn around the room together, stepping at random. “Had to keep from touchin’ myself and dreamin’ of you…”

You wrap your arms around his neck, reeling him in closer for a whisper against the shell of his ear.

“You don’t have to dream, Jack, I’m here.”

His breath stutters uncharacteristically and it must be your chance to keep him like this, his pleasure dependent on what you decide to do with him— so you pin your front to his and he grunts, giving a miniscule, testing rut back.

“No more teasin’?” he asks hopefully, sweet brown eyes glowing in the low light of your little lamp. “You weren’t so nice this morning…”

“Oh, Jack, I’m not so sure about that.”

In a mirror of the morning, you slip your hand lower to find his cock hard again, splaying your fingers over its thick length and rubbing over the fabric. He squeezes your waist, digging his thumbs in helplessly as he staves off a groan in a bid to keep what willpower is still left with him, then loses it all when you place a simple kiss to his collarbone, not open or rough or wet— just plain, pressed lips to his skin, and he asks you for more.

“Will you let me touch you this time?” you murmur, urging him backward onto the bed. He slumps over the mattress, eyes trained on your face as he places himself further up with his legs spread, palms sinking into the covers. He swallows thickly when he takes you in: standing over him in the sheer, light fabric of your nightgown, its lace edges bordering the slopes of your body.

“I want you in my mouth,” you continue, lowering yourself to your knees, hands over his own as he shuts his eyes and breathes deep, long breaths, grunting when he feels your fingers working at his buttons. “Think I’ve earned it.”

“You could ask me for anything you want, darlin’... shit—” His thighs tense under your ministrations as you reach in and pull his cock out, the tip of it shining in his own, generous arousal. He looks down from himself to your sparkling eyes, and cups your cheek in his large hand, its smoothness traveling down the curve of your face. “Anything you want.”

His lip twitches, mouth falling delicately open and his eyes shutting once more as you place your tongue flat at the base, licking upward, circling around the head while you watch his face strain and pull, his neck sticking out prominently. He’s gorgeous when you touch him like this, still so fresh and clean from the bath. The warm drips of precum glide slowly on your tongue as you hold it out, then wrap your lips around him, whining when he fists through your hair and cramps his fingers.

“That mouth is just about gonna kill me already,” he rasps, bucking his hips up a smidge to perch himself deeper in your mouth, your hand rising to cover his at the base of your neck. Its heat is dangerous yet satisfying in its revelation of just how affected he is, a tiny spot of sweat swiping from his palm onto your neck.

Blinking up at him, you pull off, wetly sliding over half the length of him before moving back down to take more, feeling it brush against the back of your throat. You keep him there as he squeezes you harder, his spine curling over you and the new sound he makes is just begging to be heard, but he smothers it with a bite of his own lip to quiet it.

“Like that…” he sighs, carefully canting his hips forward as you wrap your fingers around his base, enveloping him and spreading the wetness of your mouth over his entire length.

He glistens like that, shimmering in the low and golden light, fisting at the blanket and your hair, puffing focused breaths every time you take him deeper, longer, sucking him harder.

Up and down, you keep your lips wrapped snugly around his cock, its throbbing heft a pleasurable weight on your tongue, the satisfying hit of the head at your throat.

“Where have you fuckin’ been,” he nearly laughs in disbelief that you’re even here, much less on your knees, much less with your mouth around him.

Pulling off for a deep breath, you trace the edges of your nightgown, eyeing him and his debauched, handsome face as you bring the lacy straps off your arms, leading them from your wrists. “I’ve always been here.” 

The fabric gathers at your waist in a soft pool of cotton and ribbon, your chest bare and level with his cock.

“Do you like that, Jack?” you preen, settling closer to him this time over the hard and truthfully painful floor— you don’t notice it as much when you feel him hitting that spot all the way down your throat.

“You know I do,” he smiles breathlessly, crinkles and that little dimple creasing in his content face. He leans down for a kiss, its nature unlike the urgency of your own mouth wetting his cock— it’s always sweet like he is to you in every other way, lingering there before you lean into the space between his legs, eager.

“I wanted you all day,” you coo, running a thumb over his tip, a saturated kiss placed there before you put him in your mouth for a brief suck, managing to keep him inside for a few short seconds. “I should have felt so tired after what you did to me, but all I could think of was this.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, he then lets it go in a gravelly sigh as he holds your bobbing head in his hands, spanning the sides of your face. Your forehead brushes his soft stomach as you push down, hollowed cheeks hugging every inch of him and he jolts, driving himself the smallest bit further, moaning at the tight and wet sensation of you. You pump him, looking so falsely innocent between his legs, your chest and shoulders bare for him to admire, peeking out of the fine gown.

“Keep goin’ darlin’, I’m gonna fill that pretty mouth up... know you want it down your throat, bet you thought about havin’ my cum drippin’ from your mouth all day, too, hm?”

Licking the tip and rubbing him faster, you nod fervently, opening wide in a stretch to finish him off with firm squeezes and strokes, his breaths now raggedly rough from above you every time he hits that spot. Your mouth is hot on his skin and he warns you he’s going to cum soon, he’s going to fill your mouth up nice and good, and you shut your eyes tight in concentration, focused on the thick feel of him sliding in and out between your lips.

“Wanna see you when I fill you baby doll, c’mere n’ look at me.” Jack’s fingers brush the underside of your chin, and you strain to look upward before you slide your hand over his slick cock. He tenses up by another degree, his chest and forehead damp, throat straining as he swallows thickly. 

A final squeeze and he cums all over your extended tongue, the milky liquid sliding off and onto your chest as he moans through gritted teeth, dazed as you are as you both watch it drip all over your exposed half. You swallow what remains in your mouth, letting your jaw drop to show him your now clean slate.

Bending into you and still panting, he smiles, streaking his thumb down your chin to gather up what’s left, guiding it into your open mouth. Heart racing, you take it in, your enthusiastic glow causing his face to soften.

His gaze drifts south to linger on your glimmering chest, pressing his palm flat and firm into the slight pool of it. He paints you with it, spreading his cum all over each breast with a clear sheen from the separation, special attention granted to each nipple with a flick of his wet thumb. Its initial warmth has cooled and with it lingers a soothing cover over your front as you lay your cheek over his knee, toying with the worn laces of his boots.

“Now… how to thank my darlin’ girl and her perfect fuckin’ mouth…” Jack wonders aloud as he cups your cheeks in his hands and puts a contrasting, innocent kiss to your forehead.

Grinning up at him and placing your hands over his, you tell him that’s all you wanted to give him, all you needed was to finally feel him in your mouth.

“Well,” he whispers, “I wanna show you what I was thinkin’ about all day long.”

The spark in your eyes must be a blinding one, his hands gliding over the slope of your body as you work yourself back onto your feet, your knees throbbing and sore. Wincing, you balance yourself on his broad shoulders, glancing down to notice his eyes not relieved of their dark hunger.

“Jack, you’re…”

“Not done, angel,” he finishes for you, and that’s when you feel it, the slick dripping past your core to spread slightly down your squeezing thighs. He pushes his sleeves up as the corner of his lip tugs upward too, straight teeth glinting the same as his eyes.

“Your turn, then,” you murmur, parting his hair through your fingers. It falls back into place, his pillowy and gentle lips finding yours as he stands with you, always chasing you, waltzing you backward until your ass bumps against the thick windowsill.

“I was choppin’ wood, thinkin’ of settin’ you right here,” he confesses lowly, ensuring the curtains are drawn completely open with a quick swipe of his hands over the gauzy lengths previously covering the glass, “thinkin’ of fuckin’ you on my fingers like this.”

You situate yourself properly on the sill and he steps back, taking a comically focused once-over of your seated body, but the desire is still so thick it doesn’t even bring you to laugh when he hurriedly comes back to you. He spreads your thighs wide, his palms a fiery heat that couldn’t be further from where you want it.

Tugging at his collar, you reel him in to place an open kiss just under his ear. “Give it to me how you want.”

The glass cools the staggering temperature on your skin as he knocks you into it, your back sticking to its chilly surface in the midst of his swirling breaths, ghosting the edges of your shoulders before he hikes your thighs up higher to his waist.

“You ready for me?” he murmurs with a husky voice, and it’s a powerful shock from your head to your toes, seeing how easily he’s worked back up to needing you as he lowers a hand to your core. His fingers part you, a slick and effortless slip through your folds to your entrance. “Darlin’... you’re soakin’ my hand already. Did suckin’ my cock do all this to your sweet little cunt?”

A hushed, restrained sound tears from you and is quieted by his mouth covering yours when he rubs his calloused fingers over your clit, rasping those low words sweetly into you, nipping your bottom lip between his teeth as the digits travel lower. The arousal dripping from your cunt makes that first slide so easy, Jack bottoming out to his knuckles with a soft sigh. His stomach nearly touches your own still covered by the bunched nightgown and he pauses there, a reassuring squeeze to your side and then a smooth gracing of his free hand to hold your thigh tight to himself.

“This is where I’ve wanted to be,” he confesses, his nose drawing a line from your shoulder, delicately down to your chest as he bends and swipes his tongue broadly over your sensitive nipple. The signals from your brain to your muscles are jumbled now, feeling the heat of his wet tongue tasting the cum on your chest— it’s out of your control when you arch your back into him and whine, when your fingers tangle into his hair and tug.

He responds in a groan, licking across your skin to your unattended nipple which he suckles on gently, lapping at it. Jack curls his two thick fingers before straightening out to kiss you fleetingly on your lips; he parts and watches your eyes intently, a stray curl falling to hang between his brows.

“So full already, hm?” he teases, his thumb swiping slow patterns on your clit, and you lean further back into the glass with a pant, its surface no longer able to cool you down.

“Yes,” you manage to respond in a gasp as he grants a second, deeper hit, a slight slapping sound causing you both to hug each other tighter and chuckle.

“Tight, sweet thing,” he groans, extended curls and strokes stretching you wholly around his hand, “take my fingers just right. Is that it, darlin’, were you made for me to fill you?”

“Mm,” you suck in sharp breaths, “mhm, you fill me up, Jack, you fill me up so good.” 

You wrap your arms around his neck, and his chin hooks onto your shoulder, digging into it hard as he holds you with one toned arm snaking around your waist. Like this, your damp chest brushes his, his fingers pump and work you open another smidge wider as he pushes in, grinds his palm against your clit, pulls his fingers out a fraction of the way. The motions of his hips against his own wrist are gentle, unhurried for now, having already cum into your slack mouth.

With the flat of his free palm caressing your back through soft strokes, he draws his lips back and forth over the curve of your neck.

“You know what I see?” he asks, urging his knuckles deeper in the hardest plunge he's given you tonight, an agonizingly fiery touch to your clit. “Men, walkin’ around all dumb— could see me fuckin’ you right here on my hand if they’d just look up— shit, they got no clue I’m feelin’ the wettest little pussy, huh?”

“Fuck, Jack,” your nails dig into the lean and muscular bulge of his biceps as he keeps you upright against the glass, your thighs squeezing him so close he can hardly fuck you anymore— he just rubs and grinds his hand against you while remaining far inside your aching pussy, soaking his already drenched fingers with more slick.

“And only I’m gonna watch you cum,” he adds in a grunt, working himself into you with every last drop of energy he’s saved, his soft moans and sharp teeth spurring you closer to coming all over his perfect fingers. You might have gone longer if not for the irreversible, desperate need for him that sucking his cock had instilled in you— had you nearly dripping onto the floor, your body left unimaginably sensitive that each time he brushes up against you now, you dig deeper into his skin. He likes it though, and it makes him move with a crazed edge, his moans transforming into snarls.

“Only you…” you echo, starting to grind with him yourself, rolling into and meeting his short, fast thrusts, every muscle tensing and straining and it’s so close, almost there—

“There you go, doll, can feel you squeezin’ me so tight… cum on my hand, fuckin’ soak me, c’mon…”

“Jack, Jack I’m gonna—” Urgently, you tap at his shoulder with wide eyes and worried brows as you feel it start to happen, knowing how close you are to crying— your nails dig into his shoulders so intensely when you cum, jaw dropped and eyes shut and he makes a wincing yet completely pleased noise into your mouth; it’s cruel. You manage not to make a peep at the cost of losing large breaths, and it makes your orgasm all the more intense: light headed, woozy, and tingling numbness reaching the length of your body.

“Sweeter than fuckin’ honey when you do that,” he smiles widely, until his mouth drops fully open at the way you hug his hand inside from coming so hard around him. Your slick gathers between your thighs and you still can’t breathe, his face buried into the spot under your jaw as he pulls them out of you, dragging the pads up to your clit while the rest of it spreads throughout your folds. He stares down at it, at the wetness dripping and glistening from your core, and he groans again, blinking slowly.

Placing his palms on the sill by either side of your trembling figure, he hums, your smile against his skin buzzing at his insatiable drive, how he’d fucked your mouth and your pussy with such short rest, feeling the damp hair at the back of his neck. He drops his head down as an offering and you take him in a gentle cradle, kissing his forehead as he’d done to you while he nestles. He looks up and back down, waiting for another, your fingers smoothing the unruly hair from his face.

“Hell, if I don’t wanna fuck that pretty pussy every night till I die,” he exhales, another glance at his wet fingers, dropping a kiss to your collarbone.

“Oh, Jack,” you laugh, your heels hitting the wall underneath you, “if only you were here for that long.” 

His face scrunches a little in confusion before his lips curve, “How many times do I have to remind you I ain’t leavin’ so soon?”

“As many times as it takes,” you whisper, fingers scratching down his arms, his own dipping into your cunt again without a warning, “fuck—”

“Yeah, baby doll,” he croons, “I got somethin’ to prove to you still?”

You nod with a greedy smirk and he retracts his fingers, taking them into his mouth after drawing a line between your breasts to taste your mingled releases, moaning in your ear. “Go n’ get on the bed. You’re gonna ride my face.”

A shiver chills your spine, mainly at the way his voice has dropped a miraculous third time, his hand landing a light swat on your ass when you pass him, shaky legs taking you toward the mattress. He follows to lay on his back, perpetually pleased with himself, arms outstretched and beckoning you forward. You crawl up to him and you can feel your own cum streaking your thighs as you move, soon beside his large body, and he raises his brows impatiently, “Well go on, sugar, I wanna taste some more of that.”

Stretching his neck every which way, his eyes crinkle as he grins between your thighs while you throw one over his shoulder and his arms fall behind him, fingers searching for yours until he laces them together, squeezing.

“You’re not tired yet, old cowboy?” you tease lightly, the force of it lost when he gives a broad swipe of his tongue and moans yet another time, indulgently, swallowing the remnants of your previous release.

“I ain’t ever gonna tire of this,” he replies, another lick from your entrance to your clit, such an easy slip of the muscle, your sensitivity dialed up too many extra notches. His brows knit together in effort, rough cheeks pleasantly scratching on your skin when he moves his head side to side, tongue hanging out of his mouth and edging with a perfect pressure all over your sensitive bud.

“I’d hope not,” you exhale, grinding your hips over his wet mouth until his grip moves to your thighs to prevent you from moving. His eyes look up at you keenly as he closes his lips around your clit and sucks, your head tipping in silent rapture as you take it all for him without the relief of motion. 

“We go real nice together,” he grumbles into your slick center. Tightening the hold of your thighs, he laves his tongue all over you in focused circles, faster, with just enough force for your legs to start shaking around his handsome face, for another gush of arousal to spread over his swollen lips. All that’s left for you to handle it is to scream it out, how good he makes you feel, how precious, but the house is so silent and only you can hear the slick sounds of his mouth on your clit— he won’t even let you rub yourself over him. You can only bite your lip and hold your breath, yet little puffs and moans sneak out when he does something unforeseen, like a single bite on your thigh or a gentle nip to challenge you— it’s all on purpose and easily noticed by his gratified face.

He tugs your clit a short, miniscule distance and lets it go, shaking his head when you mope over the loss of contact.

“Are you tryin’ for me, sugar?”

“You’re being tough on me,” you whine, shimmying further up his body to regain his lips that are brightly shining.

“If I ain’t tough then it ain’t right,” he whispers, “stay still and quiet for me and I’ll take you out again.”

He tips his head down and forward, swiping his prominent nose to spread you further open, but you don’t even consider the promise of a gift, your focus on the return of his soaked tongue to your throbbing core, biting hard on your lip to quell the need to cry.

“Is my darlin’ gonna come? You gonna cum all over my face? Gimme another one, dolly.” His mouth latches back onto your clit and you can’t think, much less form an answer in your blank head where all you see is white, or maybe blinding stars, or just plain nothingness as you let go, his moustache wet with you, his lips dripping.

By some miracle, the scream you fend off becomes so high pitched in your throat that nothing makes it out of you save for the helpless cry of, “Jack!” as you tremble around his cheeks.

“Yes,” he grunts, and thank goodness it’s muffled by your soaking core; your fingers finally escape his hold to grip at his hair with a fierce, unforgiving tug, and that softer sound fills the room again while your body freezes up and you cum harder this time, covering him, coating him. He grumbles something again, but it’s nothing you could hope to make out in the crushing wave of pleasure that hits you— the light sensation does not leave you, though the shaking eases off as Jack places a tender kiss to your clit, and you jolt at just that velvet brush, his eyes turning sympathetic. You breathe deep, slumping with great exhaustion and the dazed happiness of having him in your room now as you lift your thigh from his body and he leans his head up to grant a quick kiss while it slips away from him.

“Knew you could be quiet,” he smiles under the shine of your second release, resting his arms open over the blanket to welcome you into them.

“As if you don’t make it hard.” Huffing, it’s with a reciprocal smile that you crawl back to him, nearly toppling over on your way with the weakness of his own power against your body, and he chuckles at you, not shying away from his joyous teasing when you throw him a half-glare.

“Did I wear you out again?” he questions, guiding you into his side, turning his body over yours to swipe his tangy tongue over your bottom lip.

Whimpering, it turns into a cheerful giggle as he drops pecks over your nightgown, wrapping his finger around the tail of the ribbon. 

“You just keep going, don’t you, Jack?” you cup his face in your hands, and it’s now that he adopts a sheepish expression, turning his eyes away to tilt his neck and kiss your stomach once more.

“Until you ask me to stop, darlin’.” He lends two more kisses, one to each breast, and then gathers the straps of your nightgown from the pooling of fabric underneath your chest, tenderly helping your arms through the holes. You admire him quietly as you sit up to ease the gesture, letting his fingers guide the intricate lace edges back to your shoulders. He pats the cotton down to smooth it, your thumb stroking over his left eyebrow. His hands pry under you to wrap his arms around your middle, his cheek resting over your belly as you scratch through his dark hair. 

“I think you’re softer than you realize,” you whisper, twirling a lock around your finger and he peeks up, the apples of his cheeks rising in a twinkling smile.

“I can shoot a gun a million times but I sure don’t like it more than kissin’ you,” Jack coos, tickling up your sides and swatting away your protesting hands until you make an involuntary squeak and his eyes widen, hurriedly covering your mouth with his own. You titter over his smooth lips, his weight pinning you as he opens his mouth, taking more. “I’d think I’d have sold my soul to the devil to end up here with you if I didn’t know any better.”

You let the next bubbling ripple of affection take over you when he whispers that with his gleaming eyes, and you kiss him three more times, each slower than the last.

He rests there for some time, indulging in the carding of your fingers over his scalp, and he ensures you’ve drifted off before he rises in search of a cloth. He finds a green one folded by your petticoat, his fingers briefly dragging across its white lace before he dips the cloth in the small dish of water left beside it. He crawls back up beside you, lazily yet with careful attention guiding it under your slip and over your breasts, relieving you of the stickiness. You stir but don’t wake— his touch is too light, yet still unlike a feather— he cleans you off, sets the cloth back in its spot, and resumes his position, nestled up next to you.

-

Sneaking into Jack’s room— or him into yours— becomes a habitual routine after the goodnight click of Mrs. Adler’s door, though you often find yourself with an early visitor with eyes too bright and a needy little grin on his face. It follows his giddy lips on your neck hours before in scarce moments of isolation from other guests, or after he’s stared too long across the bar, and to ease the tension, he’ll ride to take Sylvie to stretch her legs, a sympathetic look on his face at the door knowing you can’t join.

And he wears you out. Nightly. A simmering threat to your timeliness in the morning that you can’t let go of. A single time, he’d taken the sheets with him in a rapid roll onto the floor as Mrs. Adler knocked and knocked outside, calling for you to rise, until she barged in and the thump had to be blamed on yourself, standing in your disheveled chemise. Her shifty eyes become less of a fear in your head and more of a laughing stock, though not as much as Jack was in his stupid course of action to thump on the floor behind the side of the mattress, taking the blankets, too.

His dignity is not lost, though, each time you press on him about it— his grip tightens over your thighs as you straddle his lap, feeling the impression of his leather settling into your skin.

A rare clump of clouds settles over town the following week, lingering long enough to darken this evening further and forcing an early lighting of the lamps inside, a cozy glow over the hectic and crazed state of the bar.

“Let’s not slack, dearie,” Mrs. Adler sings in her urgently high-pitched voice as you handle the treacherous beast of the card game hours, handling too many requests for the strongest liquor from the cabinet, working your wrists as you open new bottles and impatient sighs crumble out of overworked throats.

Jack glances at her, a rapid flick of his angry eyes as he sets his glass of whiskey down, furrowing his brows in obvious disagreement with her words.

“She’s doin’ fine,” you hear him grumble, and you don’t have it in you to turn and face him to offer your surely-silencing glare, and without it he continues, “think we could offer a little patience.”

Chest fluttering, you shut your eyes with a bothersome huff, setting your hands flat over the counter as you wait for Mrs. Adler’s response, and the other men waiting at the dining table chat over things well beyond you, another fleeting mention of the Statesmen— but Jack remains silent along with her, and you can already picture the way he must be maintaining a hard stare at the old woman to leave her increasingly frazzled.

“My girl does this every day,” she states primly, blocking his view of your back with her own body after an uncoordinated waddle, “you keep out of it.”

Jack scoffs, soft but pointed, the wood groaning under the slide of his glass as he moves it aside, “If you cared to notice, ma’am—”

Spinning on your boot, away from the assortment of glasses set over the counter in their stage of finishing touches, you raise a hand, his first name almost slipping out until you choke on the unspoken word, widened eyes earning a mirrored expression from Jack, “It’s alright, Mr. Daniels,” you soothe, and his smirk is much too telling in his amusement of your spluttering, that you’d called him the old, proper name.

Mrs. Adler huffs a victorious breath as she checks over the full and heavy tray, granting approval while you giggle at Jack’s silly face made behind her back, followed by a wink of his eye. 

He closes his eyes as Mrs. Adler finally limps off into her study— what she achieves in there he does not know— and watches you with affection and a warming dose of admiration in his stomach as you handle the tray, setting down shining crystal glasses on the table, a soft smile on your face as the youngest card player offers his thanks. They rarely ever do.

“You look real nice,” he drawls as you round the counter, his elbows sliding along the surface as he leans in, all sparkling eyes and teeth with his wide grin as he follows your steps. “I think I’d like to get my hands on—”

His words fall away to a whisper as you shake your head in feigned annoyance, the laughter stealing your breath as you lean opposite him, taking in the sly look on his face and the pull of his shirt across his shoulders. His hand reaches for yours, tentatively, and you’re powerless against the sweet touch on your fingers as he traces them out, pulling your palm into a bed of his two hands. 

You watch as his eyes set on the random patterns he draws, eyelashes curling against his face every time he blinks, your conscious mind soon oblivious to your placement in relation to the large group at the dining table— but it doesn’t matter. They’re as absorbed in their gambling as you are in his focused touch and feel, your heart an obnoxious flutter when he smiles up at you, a perfect mix of kind and sultry darkness. 

“I’d like to get my hands on you,” he murmurs, those repeated words spoken lower this time and with a twinkle, raising the back of your hand to his lips. A gentle press, your eyes locked together in a soft gaze to match, and he gives you back your hand as the spell of slowed-time is broken by a shocking round of cheering from the group behind you both.

With a subdued grin, you ease yourself away from the magnetic pull of your lips to his, “You’ve always got your hands on me.”

“And in,” he huffs, stifling a snicker at the fifth roll of your eyes today, watching the ends of your tied apron’s ribbon swing around over the length of your skirt. 

“You’d better find something to do in the meantime, or I’ll be asking Mrs. Adler to send you off herself.”

Jack shudders in a fake paddy of fear, the miniscule shakes of his body diminishing the sooner he realizes the severity of your words, and he merely chuckles. “Why’d you want to get rid of me?”

The pleading pull of his face and the wide and warm eyes he gives are somehow not enough to stop you from gesturing your head towards the pile of dirty dishes from dinner, waiting beside the basin. “You’re distracting.”

“Sweetpea, I’m ‘fraid that’s what you’ve got yourself caught up in,” Jack rests his chin in his palm, eyeing the clearing weather outside, “if you insist on woundin’ me, I think I’ve got a horse who needs to go for a ride, and a little lady who’ll have to join us next time…”

“I’ll see you later, Jack,” you whisper, rounding the edge of his ear with your fingers, easing his hair back into place and he adopts a light blush— softer things always more efficient in pausing his heartbeat than harsher things— and he grabs his hat left to the side of him, placing it over his head and bidding you a caring goodbye, “Miss me, darlin’.”

-

Once the room has cleared at last, leaving you in that familiar spot with soapy hands, sore feet, and a wandering mind, you arrange the wet dishes to dry, stacking each on top of the other with meticulous attention. You dry your hands on the fabric of your apron, rough cotton soaking up the water, your back leaning into the hard edge of the bar behind you. The strain in your neck grows sharper as you push your head back, groaning, willing away the next few hours until you can put your feet to rest upon Jack’s lap. 

And at the thought of him, a whistle from the exterior shoots your stream of mental pictures down as your head whips to look out the window, and there he is— Jack, thighs spread wide over Sylvie’s back as he urges her to stop, his eyes straining to find you through the window. Stomach twisting, you make a speedy trip to the stash of berries hidden away, and you pull a handful of them into your apron’s pocket before sparing the parlour a thorough peek and slipping out the front door.

It’s not loud enough for you to make out, but it must be Jack’s voice in a baby soft tone as he tells Sylvie what sounds like “there she is,” with a pat between her perky ears and a smile towards you. 

“Hello,” you grin, stepping to the edge of the porch where you meet the two of them, shamelessly devouring the way he sits tall upon her in the dying sunlight clear of clouds, dark clothes, dark hair, dark eyes, a bandana hugging his neck under his glistening throat. “Back so soon?”

“It was her idea,” Jack pokes, leaning back in the saddle as Sylvie adjusts her hooves into place over the dust and sparse blades of wheatgrass. “Suppose I had to lead her here, though…”

With a hand gliding along her wide neck, you watch his smile only grow in size as he watches you gather the berries from your pocket and throw a quizzical look his way, to which he nods enthusiastically, leaning forward again to watch and guide.

You call her name softly, approaching her from a better angle, and she makes an odd pattern with the movement of her head before she digs into your offered palm of treats, her wide mouth a great tickle on your skin that you try not to flinch at.

“Nice girls,” Jack whispers, swiping his hand over Sylvie’s shoulder, then turning his attention to you. “No more flak from the lady, I’m hopin’?”

“No, haven’t seen her since,” you giggle, “you know, Jack, that was kind what you did, but I am still fine.” 

Sylvie chomps down the rest of your stash of berries, licking the leftover juices off your palm as you gasp, retracting your arm, and Jack extends his hand far across to you in a warm beckoning. You give him the dry one and he laughs when he notices, “I ain’t afraid of no horse’s mouth,” steering you around to where he’s sat on the saddle.

“You’re not even afraid of Mrs. Adler,” you say bluntly, resting your laced hands over the meat of his thigh and then your chin on top, and Jack stares down at your widened eyes, his chest stuttering with a slightly choked breath.

“I came here to see you, darlin’, to tell you somethin’.” Running his thumb over your hand, he starts to lean his body down, your own straightening for his lips to meet your ear in a warm breath, sending ice down your spine and a melting heat between your thighs.

He waits for your prompt, his radiating need causing your posture to wither as you slant up and into him, “What is it?”

Whatever upward curve your lips adopted seconds before falls away as your eyes close, that heat between your thighs now wetter, your grip on his leg tight enough to pinch.

“I’m gonna take you out again tonight, gonna lay you in the grass and fuck you dumb, listenin’ to you whine loud as you can.”

He’s utterly pleased with the visible, hitching breath you can no longer take in, your chest pausing in its stunted passing, and he straightens up his back again to look down at you with his face shadowed under his hat. “Ain’t that somethin’ old girl, the little lady is speechless…” Jack coos to the horse and she puffs, followed by another pat of her hoof on the ground, and his grin is a mix of genuine and egotistical happiness.

“Jack,” you purr, all bothered and wobbly-knees, a helpless look in your eye as you tug the looped rope, and he prepares to ride back off. He doesn’t partake in your pleading this time, instead giving a squeeze of his legs over Sylvie’s back.

“Same place, darlin’,” he calls, “I expect you.” 

A backward glance and a tip of his hat as courtesy— or to make up for his foolish teasing— and his figure dies off in the gunpowder dust behind him and his girl, his jacket the same one you’d worn your first time away. 

-

It’s cool and dark the next time you step out onto the porch, carefully shutting the door behind you, locking it with your key. You rub your hands over the sides of your arms as you creep over the wood, peeking past the pillars before descending the three short steps. Same place, he’d said, so you set off in the direction of the stables, bathed in the soft light of the spaced lamp posts, the same exhilarating rush as the first time bubbling head to toe. 

“Ever heard of a sweet little maid ‘round here?” Jack’s happy rumbling sounds just behind you, turning into laughter at the yelp you let out, its sound squeaky and fearful until he catches you by the waist, pulling your back into his chest to sway your body around aimlessly. “Works for a Mrs. Adler, prettiest face you ever saw…”

An endeared giggle falls out of you, mouth covered immediately by your hand when he comes to place his chin on your shoulder, his fingers pressing tightly to your middle. His clothing feels rough by your neck, unlike anything else you’ve felt him wearing against you, but his cheek is soft and freshly shaven, his lips hungrily kissing behind your ear.

“Oh, I’m not so sure I have…” you murmur, allowing yourself to sink backward into his promising support, and his hum is sweet into your skin when you say so, arms squeezing you just enough for your feet to lift from the ground. 

“She’s got angel eyes,” he whispers, a finger coming to trail down your cheek as he lets you back down, until his hand cups your chin, turning your head sideways to capture your lips in a deep, swelling kiss. Your own hand rises to mirror his gesture, knees suddenly like water with their wobbly weakness, and the ball of your foot scrapes over the dust as he tugs you even closer, tasting your lips. 

“That might ring a bell,” you smile when you finally part, stroking your thumb over his jaw. He likes the way it feels, tilting himself further into your light grip of his face. The world surrounding you will never be the same level of interest when he stands before you— a daydream of an outing only seems as sweet if he’s there. A guidance, of sorts, a protector.

Roaming your eyes over him, a surprised gasp follows that welcoming kiss when you notice his top half covered in a navy blue poncho, its edges finished with white tassels and the wool adorned with white lines making intricate patterns over the length and width of it.

“Where have you been hiding this from me?” you simper, picking up the edge of it to feel the slightly scratchy material. He grins, weight shifting to one foot with a cocked hip, hands resting at the base of his suspenders underneath.

“Hidin’ it?”

“You’ve always got that jacket on,” you murmur, leaning upward, grabbing his face in an internal fit of fondness at seeing him covered in the blanket-like garment, giving him a harsher kiss that surprises him enough to nearly stumble backwards. He gains his balance, beaming against your mouth as he steadies the both of you, the world returning.

“You sure keep me on my toes, little lady,” he breathes, brows raised in bashfulness that you forget he has stored in that cocky brain. “Don’t you stop.”

Humming, your hand falling to rest on his chest as you recall more private contexts to his last words, you notice he wears a cross-body leather satchel underneath the poncho. “What have you got in there?”

“I can’t be full of surprises if you wanna make me spill ‘em all,” he teases, pushing his nose into yours, “come on, just you n’ me tonight.”

With your fingers laced together, Jack leads you through the familiar field to an unfamiliar spot at the top of a climbing hill, large rocks worsening the upward trek under the minimal light.

His hands find the backs of your thighs as he helps you over the last hump and your frustrated huff gets lost in your throat when you realize his hands are helping you up under your skirt instead of over.

“Jack,” you guffaw, using your biceps to push up and over the hard surface and he plays dumb behind you, a deep chortling following as you roll over to the flat space of dry grass above it. Looking ahead you notice a small gathering of wood placed in a circle around the center of the clearing in the trees while Jack rolls up next to you, much more gracefully with what must be years of practice.

He shares a sideways glance with you, “What?” 

His pouty lips drag downward in his falsely innocent question, your eyes rolling without annoyance but with affection. He grabs your hand again, tugging you near the woodpile and he reaches into the satchel, revealing a box of matches in his palm.

“Is this what you did earlier?” you ask, a bewildered softness easing over your shoulders, and he nods with a grin.

“Sylvie n’ I came here to get it ready.”

Sliding the box open, he strikes the match against the rough side of the cover sleeve and the spark ignites a smoking, small flame that he holds to a coil of waxed thread under the arranged sticks and wood. It catches on and flourishes upward, sprinkling tiny sparks that rise then fall by Jack as he recoils, standing back up to his feet.

“How’s that?” he looks at you, pulling you into his warm side, your fingers instinctively wrapping around a tassel. You raise your other hand to hover over the fire, its heat so pleasant and lively on your skin and you look back at him with the same fondness as always for his generous gifts, that might not even be considered a gift to anyone else but you.

“Thank you, Jack.” On your tiptoes, you place a kiss on his cheek filled with all the words you can’t think to say— it’s only a campfire, and to you, it holds all his care, burning there.

“There’s more,” he whispers, and his fingers rise to touch where your lips had just been, then he looks to them and you, smiling. “Said you wished you could run,” he starts, pointing to an old, battered tin can sitting atop a tree stump several feet away, “reckon there’s a few things you’ll need to learn first.”

From underneath the wool, he pulls out one of his revolvers and it shines in the flickering fire, freshly polished. He extends his hand, your own hesitantly touching it’s handle, cupping the barrel with the other as you slowly hold it on your own.

“Jack, I really don’t know about—”

“Careful,” he coos, circling back to stand behind you and placing his hands on your hips, he helps you adjust your grip with the beginning of his lesson whispered into your ear, his hands gentle as they cover yours. “Two hands.”

“I’m not sure I’m the gun slinging type,” you whisper nervously, your palms becoming clammy just handling the weapon, and you remember when its silver glint was pointed at Mr Porter, under its power.

“Always assume a gun’s loaded,” he continues, aiding you in extending your arms out, the aim at the can improving as you go. “Feet apart.”

With the toe of his boot on the inside of your ankle, he pushes your feet further apart until shoulder-width, and your shoe slides over the dry grass as you suck in a deep breath at the physical order. 

“Hold it tighter,” he whispers next, ensuring your fingers are hugging the grip tightly, your other hand cupping the trigger guard firmly. “Don’t leave your finger on the trigger unless you’re aimed and ready.” 

Jack is rasping now, a growing hardness on your ass from watching you handle his own weapon with determination and he pinches your hips, inciting a gasp as you try to keep your arms steady.

“The cylinder's full,” he adds, “you hit the can and I’ll make good on my promise.”

With the shot of arousal that comes after his words and the reminder of his promise to fuck you hard over the grass, it’s too easy to convince yourself that you’ll miss every shot.

“Won’t somebody hear it?” you question, turning your head as far as you can and he hums thoughtfully, pinching you softer.

“It’s luck if you hear a gunshot from a distance,” Jack soothes. And it hits you, that when Mr. Porter and Mr. Bryant started shooting blindly in the house, that those were the closest bullets had ever been to you— and here, you hold them in your palms.

“Go on, sugar, knock it over and I’ll fuck you right by this fire.”

A whine escapes you before you can aim it again, the grip even sweatier than before, the fire merely a glint now as you focus on the target tin.

Locking your grip around the handle, your pointers steadying the direction, you shut one eye, then the other to test the placement, and you pull back the hammer with a stretch of your thumb.

“I’m scared,” you breathe as your arms remain pointed forward, and Jack nods, applying pressure to your shoulders with his palms.

“I’ll keep you steady. S’okay if you miss.” Jack rubs some of the tension away, your arms growing tired from holding them up as you make one last adjustment. The jolt when you pull the trigger is more powerful than you’d expected, and Jack keeps you still as your body reacts to the sharp sound and the full shock of it. The bullet only just skims the side of the can, a tinkling sound following the jarring shot from the barrel.

“Fuck,” Jack breathes, his eyes wide and his smile too, when he looks from your near-shot to your frightened face turning into confidence. He throws his hat to the side, smoothing his hand through his hair before bending slightly behind you, “that was fuckin’ close, darlin’. Go again.”

His tone is pure excitement as you shake off the last lingering threads of apprehension, and you aim again, not a one inch difference from your first shot, pulling the hammer down a second time.

You place your pointer over the solid trigger and Jack’s breath hitches as he waits and watches intently, his hands still supporting your shoulders. This time, when your upper body jostles back from the force, the shot is farther off but still close, hitting the bark where a small explosion of wood chips scatter to the grass and you startle at the cracking noise, casting a worried look to Jack.

“Keep tryin’,” he soothes, cuddling his cheek to the side of your neck as he cozies up, and you’re certain it’s not the best condition for a shooting lesson, the middle of your thighs gathering slick and your palms more nervous sweat. With a deep breath, you stretch your arms out once more, muscles pulling up tight as you adjust your feet, your eyesight on the tin can reflecting the flames of the little campfire.

“That’s it,” Jack whispers as you touch your finger to the hammer, “focus.”

Scoffing, you settle your aim, determined to ignore the way he’s still pressing up against you.

“You’re doin’ great,” his voice scratches just before you pull against the trigger’s resistance and the bullet releases, harder it feels like, and pierces the tin with an incredibly loud metallic pang, sending it fast off the stump. Although you’re not too far from it, you don’t trust it yet; looking back down at the weapon in your hand and then to him, his smile already turns smug. It’s a surprise to hit it at the same time that it’s not— luck or natural talent, you don’t think you’ll ever find out. He shakes his head with pride dripping all over, crushing you into his side with a tense squeeze of his arm, your neck fitting in the bend of his elbow.

“That’s too quick,” you breathe in modesty that Jack tells you to shush away, as your disbelieving eyes fall back on the tree stump, tin can-less. “I wasn’t far away enough.”

“Come on, darlin’.” He disembarks, jogs to the stump, picks up the can behind it. A hole burns through the center on both sides. “Still shot it on the third try.”

When he arrives at your feet again, you peer down at the silver gun in your hold. Struggling to accept your own accuracy, you slowly hand it back to him.

“It'll be harder next time,” he purrs, sliding it back into its holster pocket, “but I think you’ll make the most charmin’ gunfighter in the whole damn world.”

“That’s your title,” you smile, brushing the dark hair from his forehead, curling your fist into the wool draped over him. “And the most handsome, too.”

Jack’s chest puffs out against yours as he preens at your softly-spoken compliment, the tone of his hum pitched in a questioning way to urge you on to continue.

“I’d rather like to learn more about that lasso,” you say instead, fingering where it’s attached to his hip, and he looks at you through his eyelashes, closing his hand around the one fisted in his poncho.

“Hell, if I taught you the ropes I doubt you’d let me out of your room for a whole week, darlin’. We’d better work up to that…”

“Oh well,” you tease, perching yourself up to level your lips with his ear, “you’re too soft on me to be my teacher anyway.”

“Too soft?” He raises his brows, eager to know, causing you to step back as he advances on you.

“Too easy. I ought to shoot that can three more times from ten more feet away just to be sure I’ve learned.”

Jack lays the thick blanket next to the crackling fire after pulling it out of the satchel, motioning for you to come.

“Sugar, I’ll show you rough,” he grumbles, dragging you down to the blanket with him, your chest thumping square on his when you land, a stunted breath into his mouth. His promise, listenin’ to you whine as loud as you can, returns to you now as he holds the back of your neck and opens his lips to brush yours, nipping your lower lip to earn the first wince.

“Don’t disappoint me,” you taunt, landing yourself rolled over and pinned under his heavy weight as he lifts the poncho from his head and drapes it over your bodies, hidden and warm together as you share the fiery heat of yourselves and the physical fire beside you.

“I’d hate nothin’ more than to disappoint you.” He keeps his eyes trained on your face as his fingers creep up your leg, a soft ghosting until he reaches the stark wetness compared to your dry skin everywhere but your core and he’s already groaning at just the sensation of your slick covering his fingers. “Think I could fill you right now, hm? Soakin’ me so fast…”

“I need you to fuck me as hard as you can,” you demand, your head tipping back against the ground underneath the blanket, heat accumulating in your own makeshift tent of the dark poncho. His fingers twitch over your clit as he watches your face twist in effort to get your last coherent thoughts out, “This is where I can cry.”

“Jesus,” his head falls into your shoulder and he rubs his cock on your thigh, covered by his trousers. He’s hard and thick, just as he was watching you shoot his gun, and he lifts your skirt higher, bunching the fabric at your waist. “You always get what you ask for from me.”

Blindly searching with your fingers, you find the buttons of his trousers and pull them open, carefully taking his cock out, the tip leaking generously onto your skin. You spread it for him though it runs out quickly, but your own burning arousal is enough for the two of you as he settles himself closer, his hair flopping out of place. His moustache brushes against your temple when he spreads your legs wider, a soothing slide of your skin over the blanket before you feel his cock running through your slick folds, and it’s enough to start whining. Even the little sounds you let out at the house are suppressed and quietened— here, there is no one but the two of you.

“Give it all to me, baby doll,” he rasps over your throat as he positions himself and pushes past your entrance, slowly stretching you open on his thick cock and your thighs fall open wider, too, your breath heavy and low for him to bask in. “Ain’t that sweet…”

Jack’s eyes carry the glint of the fire beside your bodies as he stays there for some moments, letting you squirm all you need before he flattens you to the ground with his chest, cooing encouraging gentleness to contrast with the untamed way he’s going to fuck you here, on the blanket, again. His cock pushes deeper with the added mass, your whimper not enough when he finally thrusts and hits his hips to your wide-spread thighs and works the wetness of you all over his cock.

“Ja— Jack—” you whine, and his hot hand soon comes to glide over the innermost part of your thigh, rubbing it firmly as if he’s about to—

He spanks your thigh and earns the high-pitch moan he’s been working for all along, drawing himself back to return with a harsh thrust as he keeps his hand on the stinging sensation, groaning out his nose.

“Fu-uuck, there we go, that’s what I wanted,” he grunts through stunted breaths as he sets a new, punishing pace, sliding with ease in and out, hitting deep inside to brush against that satisfying spot that when he slaps the same part of your leg, the pleasure from both makes you cry louder, moan louder.

He draws the wool tighter around his back as he lowers his lips to your mouth, emitting an animalistic groan over your face when you clench around his cock and pull him in closer for another open-mouthed kiss, true and full.

“Oh, god,” you groan, his hand caressing the underside of your thigh, until he draws it up to push your knee on your chest, fitting his hand in the bend of your leg.

“Gimme more, sugar,” he demands, landing a sharp swat to the side of your ass lifted off the ground that gives him your neediest, filthiest sound yet as you fist his hair, taking his brutal pace. 

“Jack, fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Fuck,” he curses back harder, “I’m gonna steal you every god damn night for this.” Jack hisses through bared teeth on your collarbone, keening when you raise your hips to meet his. The fire rises beside you at the same time a wave of building pressure in your abdomen knocks through your lower half, and you place your hands on his face, sliding them up to meet his hair.

A shaky breath puffs out of you, the sting of his spankings spreading over your leg as you crane your neck and cry out while he buries himself and grinds against your clit, “You just get wetter n’ wetter for me,” he remarks hoarsely, “just can’t help but need me, hm?”

“I... Yes,” you sigh into his heated neck, your limbs softening in their hold of him as he fucks you hard over the blanket, his grip deathly on the side of your thigh.

“I want to hear it, darlin’, say it to me,” he scrapes, his voice at the bottom of his register, and when the words get stuck in your mind and jumbled out of order from the fullness of your core, he draws himself out and rolls you onto your stomach. Mindlessly, empty, you whine with an equal hoarseness to his own, the end of it pushed out prematurely when he flattens his chest over your back, lining his cock back up with your soaking entrance.

“I’ll pull every last pretty sound you got left in you if I have to.” 

The words are a terrible blow to your senses, sparking a rapid increase in the sound of rushing blood in your ears as he pushes your thigh up to the side and presses down on it with his palm.

“Please…” you breathe, “I’m so close— fuck me, please fuck me again—”

Shutting your eyes, hoping to feel him push himself back inside you, you instead are met with a final, cracking swat on your leg that sends you wailing as Jack waits for you to scream it, “Tell me, sugar!”

“I need you, Jack— I need you!” 

It doesn’t sound like your own voice. Never has it been clouded by so much desire and such a sinful edge to your witless begging, but it’s enough for him. A push forward, and he fills you; his own sounds have grown needier too, reaching far out. He plants a hand by your face and you grab onto his wrist as he shoves his cock repeatedly deeper and at this angle, you could consider the punishing stretch of him painful, but it’s everything you need, causing you to whine a step higher every time his hips hit your ass.

“You’re all I fuckin’ think about, darlin’,” Jack mouths at your earlobe, your bodies turning slick under the poncho and your clothes, “here you are, shootin’ my gun n’ lettin’ me fuck your tight little pussy, beggin’ for me— gonna make me fuckin’ cum.”

Your jaw drops and an involuntary squeal stumbles from your hanging lip, Jack snarling behind you as he plunges again, hooking his hands under your shoulders and splaying his fingers wide over the tops of them.

It’s a taut stretch of your chest when he pulls on you like that, the soft curl of his hair tickling your neck as he nestles his face to yours and muffles his grunts and groans. You pull up tighter around him, squeezing his cock, nearly driving him to collapse over your back when he feels it happen and what is easily his hardest, neediest and wrecked groan tears out and spreads over your limbs with the rumbling breath he takes after.

“Jaaack,” you whisper, his movements heavily weighing on you, your body resting just at the precipice of something overwhelming, “So… full..”

“I’m gonna fuck my cum into that sweet cunt.” Jack fists the blanket with his supporting hand and the next time he rams his hips forward, a full-bodied scream fills the air, and once more, you squeeze him tighter as you cum hard around his cock, your nails starting to dig into his wrist as he fucks you through it. 

“Baby doll, you’re too fuckin’ good to me— squeeze me so fuckin’ tight when you cum, keep it comin’—”

“Oh god, oh god, oh god— fuck!”  You can’t stop gushing around him as his thrusts lose rhythm, as he focuses more on the sounds you’re making and the grip you have on his cock and it just won’t end, tears beginning to form in your eyes while the movements never cease.

“That is just heavenly,” he says with a strained laugh, “shit, you really did need me, huh? You want my cum inside you too? Want to be spoiled?”

“Yes!” you cry, miraculously raising your ass just a little against his cock as the orgasm finally calms, a growl and a bite on your shoulder at your ceaseless will to beg.

“Take it.” One final, gorgeous moan from his throat and he buries himself, a wet warmth painting your walls, his chest deflating as he settles around your back and rubs your thigh in a soft contrast to what was his stinging swats minutes before. He blows and pants to recuperate, and as he brings himself out, you feel the warmth spreading and dripping down to your clit. For a moment, you share the breaths you’re both trying to catch, but the sensation of his cum sliding over your skin is yet another obstacle to returning to a manageable state of being.

“This…” he whispers, taking his hand back, leaning on his other elbow to support himself as he slides his fingers under your skirt to lead them to your swollen cunt, “is my favourite, darlin’.” He spreads his cum over your folds, milky liquid sliding wherever he traces, and you push back on your knees to raise yourself for him while he guides it back inside you, your throat tired but still whimpering as he pushes his fingers in.

“Keep me inside,” he murmurs on your temple, urging you to lay back down over the plushy blanket, and as you relax, mussed and twinkling by the fire, he drapes the poncho over your body, tucking the fabric under your sides. He strokes your cheek with the dry hand, lifting your head to his lap as he carefully sits by you, your eyes delicately fluttering closed. 

“Did I hurt you?” He asks, and without opening your eyes, you shake your head no. Jack makes a purring sound, considering the moans his actions pulled out of you, and he begins to stroke your face some more. “Hope I never do,” he adds softly, studying your peaceful expression under the firelight and stars, “you’re soft.”

The last two words make you blink and smile up at him, finally granting him a peek which he returns with curved lips, and you know that “soft” doesn’t mean “weak” when he says it.

“I got an idea of where to take you next, if you think you can handle it...”

-

tags for yeehonk idiot:

@filthybookworm @frannyzooey​ @javier-pena​ @javierpcna​ @astroboots​ @userdindja @pedros-mustache​ @princessxkenobi​ @trashcora​ @writerdee1701​ @thelemongeneration​ @libraryofrecs​ @fan-of-encouragement​ @herb-welch​ @writeforfandoms​ @queenofthecloudss​ @leannawithacapitala​ @the-feckless-wonder​ @kesskirata​ @fuck-goes-on​ @lawfulgranola​@apascalrascal @prismaticpizza​ @xemmaloveskillianx​ @littlemissoblivious​ @quica-quica-quica @spideysimpossiblegirl​ @little-big-mac2​ @recklesswit​ ​@frankie-catfish-morales

let me know whether you’d like to be added or removed! 

#agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels x reader #pedro pascal #agent whiskey #pedrostories #userastrid #tuserdaniela #userdindja #xuserannie #userhai #jack daniels x you #agent whiskey x you #western au #jack daniels i love you forever #no devil dealings here...

[denjiholic]

euphoria || bottom gojo x reader NSFW

✎ summary: when gojo wears a bunny girl suit and you’re unable to control yourself

✎ pairing: bottom gojo x fem! reader

✎ warnings/tags: NSFW, explicit content, bottom! gojo, brat! gojo, pegging, sex toys, overstimulation, dom/sub, rough sex, dacryphilia, rough sex, multiple sex positions, doggy style, riding, masturbation, exhibitionism

✎ word count: 2.3k

“so, how do I look?”

you take a moment to really look at him, soaking in the sight of the white haired man sitting on the bed in front of you. his legs are crossed, flaunting the fishnet tights that cover the skin on his calves and thighs. his torso is covered in a slick black bodysuit, the material exposing his ass and chest. the sweet little cherry on top however, is the bunny ears that stem from the headband tucked into his tousled hair.

he uncrosses his legs, and you lay eyes on his erection pushing against the material covering his crotch.

“are you turned on by yourself?”

“well who wouldn’t be, just look at me” he grins, “you can’t confidently tell me, that this outfit doesn’t make you want to fuck me.”

honestly, you couldn’t tell him that. not truthfully at least. the tight bodysuit flattered his lean yet toned figure in a way that made you feel hot with arousal. and his stupid expression, that fucking expression, full of smugness and confidence. you just wanted to wipe it clean off, replacing it with one of pure bliss and overstimulation. his eyes glimmer, taunting you with the possibility of him completely submitting to you and your body. letting you take control for the night, and fucking him until he couldn’t breathe.

“why are you staring?”, he teases, “do i look like that much of a slut?”

he leans forward, batting his white eyelashes, trying to draw a flustered response out of you.

you move closer towards him, extending your hand to tilt his chin up, forcing his face to meet yours. his skin is warm to the touch, eager and ready for you.

“yeah, you do look like a slut” his blue eyes gaze into your own with an issued challenge.

“so fuck me like i am one”, he whispers.

your fingers trace over his bulge, ghosting the fabric. keeping his head tilted up to face you, you listen to his breath hitch. while you lightly rub his cock through the bodysuit material, his eyelids flutter shut.

he begins to breathe heavier, letting his head fall back from your hand.

grabbing a hold of his face, you stop jerking him off.

“keep your eyes on me”, you command.

he smiles at your dominating tone, “someone’s getting bold.”

even though he felt the need to throw in a brazen remark, he follows your instruction, maintaining eye contact with you as you put your hand back onto his erection.

as you start to rub him once more through the fabric, you can feel his dick twitch. once his hips start to stutter up into your hand, you pull away, leaving him looking at you with frustration.

“why’d you stop?”

“you were going to make this lovely outfit dirty...” you smile and caress his face, “guess we’ll just have to take you out of it then.”

he grins smugly, “are you asking me to strip?”

“maybe.”

“you want to see me naked that badly? i didn’t think you’d be so desperate.”

brushing your thumb on his cheek you sigh, “shut up and undress yourself.”

before taking the suit off, he slowly caresses his body, keeping eye contact with you. his hand will occasionally rub his hardness beneath the fabric, but he mostly strokes the rest of his skin, an active attempt to tease you. whatever he’s doing is working however, as you can feel your underwear dampen. he slowly starts to unzip the suit, letting it fall to expose his bare chest underneath.

“putting on a show?”

he winks, completely removing the fabric.

“you know I always do.”

without the bodysuit, all that’s left is his dick pressed up against the fishnets. when he releases his cock from the tights, you can see it hit his stomach, smearing precum onto his abdomen.

he sits on the bed with a longing look in his eyes, awaiting your next order. luckily, you have it ready.

“touch yourself.”

“gladly”, he grins.

as he slowly starts to palm himself he lets out a shaky breath. he runs his fingers up and down his cock, playing with the tip gently while you watch him.

his head falls back, breaking the eye contact between you once again, as he lets out a soft moan.

he’s deliberately taking his time getting himself off, determined to fully show you how dirty he could be.

he truly does look like a slut. his body is bare aside from the bunny ears, collar, and the fabric cuffs around his wrists. eyes shut in concentration and euphoria, he’s gorgeous. with his hand moving up and down his length, he tries to delay his orgasm.

“y’know..”, he huffs, “i would enjoy it a lot more if i got to actually finish inside you.”

“too good for your own hand?”

“only when it comes to you.”

his fleeting proposal of dominating you is cut short however, as he suddenly releases onto his bare chest.

“shit, I didn’t mean to do that.”

“look at that, you’ve made quite the mess on yourself.”

smiling, you ask, “need some help cleaning it off?”

he smiles back, nodding his head. you get to your knees in front of him, and start licking the cum off his skin. he twitches when your tongue first makes contact with his stomach, tracing up his torso. lapping up the remainder off of his dick, you can hear his breathing get shallow.

“don’t taunt me like that”, he says shakily.

once he’s all clean, you get up to meet his lips for a kiss. he whines when your tongue enters his mouth, and you can feel his hand move down to wrap around his cock. when he starts to stroke it you pull away from him, and restrict his wrist.

“well, someone's needy..”

“if you’re not going to fuck me, i can damn well do it myself.”

“poor thing.”

he lets out a frustrated whine as you turn your back to him.

“sit here and be a good boy while i get a few things, okay?”

nodding his head, he stays put on the bed, while you venture into your closet.

after retrieving what you need, you show him what you’ve grabbed.

“if i'm being honest, i would have preferred a different color.”

he’s referring to the purple dildo in your hand, eyeing it, as well as you, with caution.

“lie down for me”

complying, he lies down on the bed, and sticks his hips in the air. he wiggles them slightly, teasing you playfully.

his carefree attitude is thrown away however, as you start to lube him up. gojo lets out a sharp inhale as he starts to feel one of your slick fingers start to enter his tight ass. after he’s squirming enough, you put in a second finger, slowly stretching and preparing his hole for you.

unable to resist the temptation to hear more whimpers come out of his mouth, you start to thrust your fingers in and out of his ass. his pale back arches, and he grips the soft material of the bedsheets, as you hit his prostate.

more whimpers leave his lips as you give his ass a gentle slap. he’s fucking himself onto your fingers now, desperately searching for release.

his body shudders when his cum spills onto the sheets.

“shit”, he groans.

looking at the trembling man beneath you, you coo, “you just couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

“fuck you.”

picking up the strap on, you lie down and start to insert one end into yourself. gojo watches impatiently, yearning to feel you inside him. he whimpers as you let out contented sighs, the dildo filling you up just right. patting your lap, you gesture for him to get on top of you.

he’s about to put the strap into his tight hole when you halt him.

“suck it a little first”

in a hurry to get fucked, he positions himself in front of the dildo. he starts licking up the sides, not stopping until saliva has fully covered its length. once he suffices it’s wet enough, he takes it into his mouth, inch by inch. gojo has no shame, letting the strap on repeatedly hit his throat until he’s gagging, tears pricking at his long white lashes. you watch his head bow up and down, desperately trying to get your permission and approval.

“good boy, that’s enough”, you hum.

you pull his mouth off, admiring the strings of spit that connect from his tongue to the dildo.

“i’m going to need you to use those strong legs of yours to ride me, okay?”

his blue eyes spark with excitement, enthused to be able to have the satisfaction of another orgasm.

as you guide the strap into his hole, he curses, feeling the full length and width bottom out inside him.

he starts to grind down his hips, struggling to move his legs at the proper angle. Deciding to help him out, you thrust up to hit his sensitive spot, aiding him in his pursuit of pleasure.

the tip of his dick is flushed and leaking with precum, his body practically begging to be used.

when your fingers graze his nipples, his back arches suddenly, and a stifled cry fills the room.

“something wrong?”, you tease.

he doesn’t even bother with a comeback, his body too overwhelmed with the strap on dragging across his walls.

with each bounce on your length, the bunny ears on his headband flop and shake.

gojo knows just how lewd he looks, as he makes a conscious effort to show the pleasure he’s receiving through his facial expression, truly leaning into the submissive role.

choked sounds fall from his lips as he cums onto his stomach for the second time that night. his eyes roll back as he shakes on top of your thighs.

you smile at his exaggerated look, saying, “you really have to do the most every time, don’t you?”

he lets out a shallow laugh, still out of breath from his orgasm.

“i’m just trying to fit the part”

“if you really want to do that, then lie down ass up on the bed for me”

his eyes widen, “but I just-”

stroking his cheek, you whisper, “now, please”

he whimpers, but does what he’s told, climbing off of you and getting on his hands and knees.

after getting behind him, you start to slide the dildo in once more.

“take it easy please”, he pleads.

you laugh, knowing full well his request has fallen on deaf ears.

“oh really? i thought you liked it rough..”

once you start thrusting into him, he quickly muffles a moan into the mattress. his fists desperately grip the bed sheets, searching for stability. arching his back, he brings his hips back to meet your own, each thrust from your pelvis met with the skin on the globes of his ass.

soon after you start thrusting he releases his seed onto the bed. you can tell that by now he’s unable to hold out for very long, the relentless torturing of his prostate too much to handle.

you don’t allow him any rest however, and continue fucking him with force.

his knuckles have practically turned white from gripping the bed, and he begins to sob into the sheets. even as he cries and begs for you to slow down, he rubs his cock against the bedding, desperate to feel more friction.

the shared strap feels good inside you as well, but you’re more heavily focused on gojo’s pleasure and reactions. he’s only come four times, yet he’s close to being completely, and euphorically, fucked out.

his chest stutters with each choked hiccup, as you pound into him. after letting him dry his eyes onto the bed, you grab a fistful of his hair and pull his head back, determined to let his tears stream down his face.

he moans and whines pathetically, reaching climax once again. keeping up this process, you never give him a break, letting him reach completion repeatedly. by now, his cock is worn out and oozing onto the bed, the collar and cuffs that came with the bunny suit are damp with his sweat.

he looks like he’s almost in pain when he cums once more, with the way his body shudders, and his desperate cries as you fuck him.

with a firm grip on his white hair, you tug at his head, using him as a support while you thrust.

“fuck fuck fuck, please, oh god”, he moans.

panting like a bitch in heat, his bright blue eyes look glossy, wonderfully accompanying his rosy flushed face and cheeks.

“m’gonna cum again”, he mumbles, almost completely incapable of speaking.

you push deeper and harder, wanting to milk him for all he’s worth. feeling his body twitch and shake, you can tell he’s on the brink of having his strongest climax of the night.

he moans loudly, white eyelashes heavy with thick tears. his tongue falls out of his mouth, spilling drool down his chin and onto the bed. eyes rolling back in pure bliss, he’s unable to feel anything other than you fucking him silly, and the hard orgasm that fills his entire body with pure ecstasy.

once he’s done, you slow down your thrusts to a final stop, eventually pulling out.

limbs no longer able to support his position on all fours, he collapses onto the bed, and you watch his body spasm and tremble as he sobs into the sheets. you smooth the hair stuck to his forehead, and stroke his face, coaxing him down his high.

referring to the sweat and cum that reside on his chest and body, you coo, “look at you, such a little mess.”

after taking a few shallow breaths, he says, “you gonna use your tongue to clean me up?” his voice is hoarse, vocal chords obviously strained from the busy night.

you laugh, surprised he still has the ability to fight back.

“you wish.”

you head to the bathroom to wet a damp towel, and once you return to the bed he has his eyes shut.

“are you seriously asleep?”, you ask.

“yes.”

shaking your head, you start to wipe off his chest. he sighs contentedly, more than happy to simply lay back and get taken care of by you.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo x you #gojo smut #jjk #gojo headcanons #gojo imagine #LICK ME TEASE ME #TOUCH ME PLEASE ME #SEX ME #FLEX ME CARESS ME

[babbushka]

Midnight Pearls

Ancient Emperor!Kylo Ren x Goddess!Reader

A/N: This oneshot is inspired by, and dedicated to, my dear friend @autumnlovesadam who is always so kind in enabling me when I want to write about a certain au. I've been craving some Emperor Kylo content, and here we are!

3.5k, NSFW (slight exhibitionism, body worship, sex on the beach [PIV, fingering & oral {F receiving}])

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This is the third time now, that you’ve had to give his hand a squeeze, in an attempt to get him to continue walking. Three times now, that he has stopped abruptly on the beach, staring down at the dark sands below your feet, concentrating on something so hard that you’re positive he’s going to give himself lines in his forehead. With a gentle smile, you coax him to continue walking down the shoreline with you, resuming your midnight stroll.

It had been Kylo’s idea to slip away late in the night, when much of the city was asleep. He had gotten it in his head that he wanted to walk up and down the coast with you on his arm, and when Kylo gets in the mood for something, he simply will not rest until it is done. So, you find yourself in your most comfortable of robes, barefoot in the sand, hand in hand with your Emperor, as he scowls into the light of the moon.

All is well, until he stops for a fourth time, and instead of quietly tugging him along once again, you simply smile fondly and raise a brow in the dark, asking, “What are you doing?”

“I am on a great hunt, blossom.” He replies vaguely, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“Ah I see, my Emperor’s head never seems to rest.” You attempt to let go of his hand, deeming him too preoccupied to notice, “And here I thought that I might be company enough for you on this evening.”

“Of course you are, in fact, the fruits of this effort are for you, and you alone.” Kylo snatches your palm right back up almost instantly, in that anxious sort of way that he does when he cannot bear to be mere inches apart. Something warm in your chest blooms at that, at his wanting to touch you, even when he’s distracted by some self imposed quest.

“Do tell.” You hum in amusement with a playful sort of encouragement.

Kylo walks along the shore with you, up to his ankles in the water. It is easy for him to cut through the resistance of the tide -- after all, he is so strong, he is the Emperor. Stopping and starting again as he inspects the sand beneath his feet, before sighing and pushing some of his long hair out of his face.

“I seek the most beautiful of all seashells that my beach has to offer.” Finally responding, Kylo bends down and with his free hand, splashes about in the shallow water, seemingly having found one. Upon closer inspection though, he must deem it unworthy, because he lets it drop back into the sand, and moves on.

Resting your head on his shoulder for a few steps, you too cast your gaze downwards. It is difficult to see in the dark like this, nothing but the moon shining and glittering on the water to light your way. It’s full tonight, and you, along with the rest of the Empire, have already given your offerings to the Goddess of the moon, in the hopes that she will be pleased. The night is clear, no clouds to be seen, so you believe that she is.

“There are a great deal many shells, your seas are healthy.” You remark proudly, wanting Kylo to be proud too.

“So you understand why it takes me so long.” He gives you a smile there in the dark, one that he thinks you can’t see.

The upturn of his lips is silhouetted in the silvery lining of the moon, and you savor the image for as long as you can, before he is stopping again to glare down at the sand.

“Oh my beloved, why not simply pick one? It need not be perfect.” You let out a small exasperated chuckle, hoping that he doesn’t keep this up all evening, lest it be sunrise by the time you return home.

“If it’s for you?” Kylo’s eyes are wide when they look straight into your soul, his voice quiet and soft, speaking nearly to himself when he nods, “Yes it does.”

Your heart goes warm again, and this time you have to bite at your smile so that he does not think you are teasing him. Kylo is a strangely sentimental man, in that, he is sentimental about such odd things. You have watched him burn the remnants of previous Emperors, watched him destroy and rebuild the palace he calls home, watched him storm into battle with such little regard for anyone or anything other than victory.

And yet, when it comes to you, everything must be perfect and precious, because to him, that’s what you are.

It is a long while before he stoops over for the final time, plucking a seashell from underneath the waves. The tide has begun to creep ever closer to shore with the pull of the moon as it travels through the night, the water now up to your calves.

“Here, this is the one.” Kylo brandishes a shell with a pleased sigh, a hopeful smile, as he places the twisted shell in your palm.

“Oh it’s gorgeous!” You gasp honestly, admiring the shape of the gastropoda shell, holding it up to the moon for a better view, “Look at the way it glows in the night, I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”

You’re not sure what color it is in the daytime, but here in the silver light of midnight, it gleams a glistening purple-blue in your hands. Something of a pearlescent coating hides inside where the little creature that once lived would have called home, a secret just for you.

“You really like it?” Kylo sounds so similar to young Ani whenever he brings you polished stones from the water’s edge that he finds, and you give Kylo the same kind eyes.

“Yes. I will fasten it into a necklace and wear it proudly until the end of my days.” You clutch the seashell in your free palm, not tight enough to break it, but merely so that it remins secure in your grasp, before leaning in to kiss your lover and sigh against his mouth, “Thank you, Kylo, I’ll treasure it always.”

Kylo kisses you again, pulls your body close to his. It is only then that you feel the first shiver of the night ghosting over your skin, and you realize how little clothing you both are truly wearing. You are dressed in a simple sheer white robe that criss-crosses over your chest, falling in long panels down to your ankles which now float atop the black sea. Kylo wears only his long tunic, belted at the waist with a deep purple stash.

As he kisses you, your body grows warmer and warmer, desire pooling in your stomach as your lips part for him, your arms looping around his neck, a silent plea as you sigh and gasp under the bites and kisses to your throat he places.

“There is nothing, or no one, more beautiful than you.” Kylo’s hands grasp at your waist, your robe so thin that you can feel the heat of his palms on your skin, and he tugs you closer, close enough that you can feel the hard line of his cock against your stomach, murmuring, “I ache for you, blossom, let me bury my face between your legs and have a taste of your cunt, I beg.”

“Here I thought you’d never ask.” Grinning, you let him hoist you up into his arms properly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you away from the water’s edge.

Not wanting you to get sandy, he removes the sash and his tunic, and shakes it out so that it lays down onto the cool sand as a blanket. Naked before you, his cock is so impressive, even in the low light of night, you can see the way it curves up deliciously, the way it twitches, wanting to thrust inside of you.

While Kylo sets down the tunic, you busy yourself by removing the few ties that hold your robe together, letting the see-through fabric fall to your feet, your bare body just for Kylo, as his is just for you. He licks his lips, eyes you up and down, gaze fixated on the glistening between your legs, and gently guides you down onto the makeshift blanket.

“My favorite, my most beautiful girl, oh heaven above, you are glorious.” Kylo’s voice nearly breaks with adoration, the reverence in his words shaking through him, as his hands part your thighs with ease.

“Shh, my Emperor, enjoy the spoils of your kingdom, take what is yours.” Your cunt is wet, slick smeared between your thighs in anticipation, pussy fluttering and desperate to be attended to.

Needing no more permission, Kylo moans into your cunt immediately, kissing and sucking at your folds, his teeth and tongue working to open you up, to swallow down the wetness that drips onto his mouth at the stimulation. He is so very good at eating pussy, that you sometimes wonder why you do anything else at all. Losing yourself in the pleasure, you set the seashell down above your head so that it stays safe, and tangle your hands in Kylo’s hair, gripping and gasping tightly right at the base of his skull, moaning out loud into the night air.

Kylo licks up your folds slowly, deliberately, before he plunges it into you in earnest thrusts, eyes shut tight so that he might press his face as close to your flesh as he can manage, your legs sliding over his shoulders, keeping him there as you fist his hair.

“Mmm, fuck.” You sigh, gasping loudly as he thrusts and thrusts and thrusts inside your pussy, “Your tongue is so long -- more, I want more.”

Demanding and insistent, you push your hips up to better allow him purchase of your body, and he takes a hold of it as much as he can, the deep moans and grunts of pleasure reverberating through your body, as he shoves his tongue deeper, impossibly so inside of you, joined by two of his fingers to better stretch you out.

“Yes!” You gasp, a great big smile spreading across your face. Kylo’s big, everything about him is big, and even though he’s been fucking you for what feels like an eternity now, you still need proper preparation. His fingers stroke at your walls as he sucks and plunges his tongue further into you, fingers crooking and curling against your gspot, grazing it and making your body shake, shudder, jolt.

Your nipples are hard and oversensitive against the cool air, and you wish he would latch onto them and stimulate them, but he’s decided against that, instead nosing at your swollen clit, paying special attention there. His lips suckle and his cheeks hollow out, and your body writhes on the tunic blanket, gasps and moans hiccupping out of you.

The pleasure is so much but it’s not enough at the same time, not enough to get you to come, not yet, you need to be filled properly. Kylo knows this, and after only a little while longer of drinking down the slick that your pussy shines all over his face, does he pull his mouth away, licking his lips and swiping the back of his free hand over his goatee to collect the juices that soaked his chin.

“You taste like the sea.” He murmurs, licking his lips again and again, eyes glittering like the moon on the waves, “I could spend forever here.”

“I need your cock.” You whine, too desperate for anything else.

Some nights Kylo makes you wait for it for hours and hours, eats your pussy until you’re a sobbing pleading mess, and for a moment it looks like he’s in that mood tonight. But when you say that, he’s reminded of his own rock hard erection, that’s been steadily dripping pre-come into the sand.

He doesn’t want to deny you nor himself that feeling of being so thoroughly fucked, so he doesn’t. Climbing up your body, your face instantly presses against his neck as he hikes your legs up once again, this time spreading them at the right angle that his throbbing cock stuffing you full.

“Ah, yes!” You moan loudly, a little too loudly, loud enough that the stars begin to twinkle brighter, the ocean creeping closer, caressing your sides, licking up against your bare bodies as he settles his weight on top of you, grunting in your ear, bottoming out. “Yes, that’s it -- right there, oh, Kylo!”

Unfocused, your glassy eyes look up at the stars and smile, and you swear they smile back at you, until you can’t look anymore, the pounding pleasure wracking through your body as Kylo gets his purchase and fucks you with a vigor that reminds you of the way he fucks you after battle. It’s so good, it’s too good, your toes curling in the sand, back arching up off the makeshift bed.

The sounds are thick, squelching wet and loud in the night, and your breath begins to come in faster, your moans higher, body on fire. All your nerves tingle and alight at once, and your eyes roll back into your head from the pleasure as he thrusts hard and fast, grinding his hips against yours.

“D-do you think they are watching us? Do you think they are pleased?” You gasp, digging your grip into the muscles of his back, clutching him tight as your body shoves up up up the tunic, the water chasing you, wetting you, covering your bodies and keeping you warm from the summer waters.

“Yes,” Kylo groans, “I feel it in my bones. Your cunt is so tight, oh fuck..!”

“Don’t stop, don’t you dare stop.” You cry, the Goddesses above smiling down at you and Kylo. You can feel it in your bones too, can feel it in the way the sea caresses your sides, foam bubbling and tickling your legs as he lowers a hand to your throbbing cunt once more.

“Are you going to come?” His voice is deep and dark and so powerful, all yours, staring at you with concentration, as his fingers rub and pinch at your clit, “Will you come on my cock? Let me feel you.”

“You’re so fucking big -- so big, I -- I -- oh!” You gasp loudly, the sound echoing across the shore, deep into the ocean and high up into the stars. Your legs are spread so wide, and your pussy is so filled with his cock, that cock which doesn’t let up even as you’re teetering on the edge of coming, close close close.

“Beautiful, so beautiful.” Kylo bends himself down to suck on your nipples, harsh and aggressive and exactly what you need as he rolls your clit.

“Kylo please please please!” Nearly jackknifing, your body snaps up in pleasure as you scream out his name, music to his ears.

“Anything for you, always.” He’s drooling all over your chest, drunk off the feeling of your tight cunt clamping down around his cock, but he times his thrusts against your gspot with the rubbing of your clit, and your body shudders and you’re moaning so loudly that you almost have no idea that you’re coming, it’s all one big sensory overload, too much, too good.

The orgasm is beautiful, you can nearly see it, the stars that dance behind your shut eyelids, swirling and sparking down your veins, pleasure hazy and thick flooding your mind. Your heart beats fast, like you’ve run a decathlon, and all at once, that pleasure bubbles up through your chest into a shower of laughter, happy giggles that you can’t seem to stop once they’ve started.

Kylo has yet to finish, but you know this is his favorite part; when you are soft and pliant and he can bury himself even deeper inside your pussy, spilling his come hot and heavy into your cunt. He always makes sure you come first not only because he loves you and wants you to be pleased above all else, but because he loves the feeling of your body taking him so well.

After a few more grunts and hard thrusts that have you whining and gasping, overstimulated tears spilling down your cheeks, he comes, and you can feel the heat of it spreading through your body, sloshing around inside you.

He collapses down on top of your chest, the both of you taking in deep steady breaths, before you are giggling once again, your limbs nearly numb, softly saying, “I cannot move my legs.”

“Good, I don’t want you going anywhere.” Kylo is too tired to hold you, but you know he would be if he could.

“But the tide, my beloved, we’ll be swept away.” You laugh and laugh and laugh, the adrenaline giving way to something joyous and warm.

“They would never allow that.” He kisses your sternum, “And neither would I.”

Almost as if on cue, the ocean curls and curves around your bodies, touching everything but the spot where you lay, a silent agreement from the Goddesses. They love you, they want to see you succeed, they won’t let any harm come your way.

Later, much later, when you’re starting to grow stiff from lying on the hard floor of the shore, do you gently push Kylo to sit up, so that you can begin to re-dress and make the walk up the cliffs back to the palace. It is a long walk, and you know that if you don’t go now, you’ll both just sleep naked outside, which you’d never hear the end of. Kylo knows the same to be true, so he helps you stand up on your sex-wobbly feet, and hands you your robe to loosely wrap around your body. He dresses in his tunic, shaking off as much of the sand as possible -- when he whirls around to face you as you gasp in anguish, “Oh no!!”

“What is it, blossom?” Kylo is at your side in a moment, and you merely drop to your knees and search the sand with sad panicked eyes.

“My seashell! The waves -- it got lost -- I’m so sorry.” You look like you could cry, but not tears of pleasure, and Kylo can’t have that, not for one moment.

“It’s quite alright, it just gives us an excuse to come out here and look for it another night, doesn’t it?” He offers you his hands and pulls you back up to standing, holding your body close, kissing your throat and shoulders that are exposed, covering them with reassurance.

You sigh, feeling awful that he spent all that time looking for something to give you, and you went and lost it. But when you look at Kylo, eyes straining in the pitch black of night, you find that he’s not mad at all.

“Perhaps next time I shall find one for you too.” You say by way of apology again, and Kylo only shakes his head, pinching your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up to meet his in a kiss.

“There is no need, you are already the most precious pearl a man could hold.” He whispers, a secret just for you, one that you simply must kiss him again about.

“You are very good to me.” You whisper back, your hands bracing against his strong chest, against the Emperor’s chest, “I hope you know this. I hope you know how much I adore you.”

“One day I will see you Empress, and then I’ll have earned that praise.” Kylo muses, and you know that is a treasonous conversation that’s best had elsewhere -- another place and time. Murderous plots were not often pillow-talk, and you weren’t inclined to start that now.

“You are already deserving of it.” You promise him, before changing the subject before he can grow sentimental to dwell on it, “I have grown cold. Let us return to our rooms, and allow me to convince you.”

Beginning the long walk back the shore, the moon seems to follow your path along the horizon, shining on the water and providing a safe beacon of light for you to climb the cliffs once again.

You will ask Kylo to bring you out here again, maybe not tomorrow but perhaps the night after, and you will kiss and make love underneath the stars once again, seashells in hand.

These nights are special, the ones you get with your Emperor, and you intend to savor them as often as you can, your midnight pearls.

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Tagging some Kylo lovin' friends! @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @thembohux @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @babayagakeanu @safarigirlsp @steeevienicks @materialisthicc @lovinghufflepuffgirl @hswritingrecs @han68000 @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl @schopenhauerdeathsquad @loverofallthings @groovetoob @bxnnywriting @glassbxttless @angel-bxby3 @smallgirlbigpersonality @lovelyyy-luna @2000andwhat @raddo1975 @cornmousequeen @metsienmenninkainen @caillea @painttheskylineforme @holding-on-to-starwars @kylo-ren-is-alive @caitlin-was-here @icarusinthesea @princessflip

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren/reader #adam driver fanfic #adcu #kylo ren smut #ancient emperor au #emperor kylo ren #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren/you #kylo ren x you #my writing